Displaced
by President John Henry Eden
Summary: After a ship-raiding mission gone awry, a military strike team from an alternate, technologically-advanced 20th century found themselves hurled into a universe unlike any other. Now, they must find a way to return to the war back home, while trying to prevent another war from happening entirely. Meanwhile, a group of champions find themselves in slightly different circumstances.
1. Prologue, Give and Take

A/N: _I'm a long-time writer, but this is my first foray into the world of fanfiction. I did this by the request of a massive history buff and a dedicated gamer of a friend. Let me know what you people think (yes, I know this story is a bit... unorthodox), and hopefully, I'll be able to upload all that it takes to see this story finished. Oh, and don't worry. Despite what you're about to read, this still __is a _League of Legends _story._

* * *

Legend:

"Blah, blah, blah." - Speech

_Blah, blah, blah. _- Thoughts

"Blah_, blah,_ blah."_ -_ Emphasis

* * *

A few years after the fall of the Axis Powers and the end of the Second World War, the United States-led Western Bloc and the Soviet Union-led Eastern Bloc entered a period of continuous political and military tension characterized by threats, violent propaganda, clandestine activities and other measures just short of open warfare. Both sides had possession of nuclear weapons; therefore, every country involved in a future war will be threatened with Mutually Assured Destruction (or MAD), the second the first shots fly. Nukes will ensure a quick, brutal end to any sort of war the two sides could create... with undesirable consequences to all parties involved. As a result, in their effort to gain global influence, the two superpowers engaged in psychological warfare, in substitute to actual warfare. Furthermore, they also began utilizing mercenaries as their representatives in indirect confrontations within various proxy wars.

Both sides knew the risk of their actions, so they sought to alleviate the threat of a potential nuclear war by declaring an armistice; the West began working with the East to the betterment of humanity. Both sides had decreased their nuclear stockpiles by an astounding 75%, and in such a short time, mankind's technological advancements had far exceeded most experts' expectations, with futuristic technology such as those found in science-fiction novels becoming more and more common each day. The joint Western and Eastern scientific community even managed to achieve the long-awaited dream of many an astronomer: spaceflight. In the early 1950's, a spacecraft crewed by both Western and Eastern astronauts landed on the Moon; with another joint, future operation in the works for a manned landing on Mars.

However, this fragile, delicate ceasefire between the superpowers would not last very long. Exploiting the momentary laxity of their enemies' defenses, the Soviet Union began launching covert military offensive operations within United States domain in order to weaken the country's military strength, under orders from a zealous, belligerent Russian General, Arkadiy Chekhov, with approval from the Kremlin. Soon, the Americans found out who were the culprits to the savage, irregular attacks to their country. A highly confidential search and destroy operation by a united American and British force in Russia swiftly overwhelmed the Soviet force guarding the general, culminating in the man's field execution by firing squad.

Upon learning that the West had discovered their cloak-and-dagger campaigns, in a wintry December evening in 1972, the Soviets launched an all-out invasion of all western countries, including NATO and United Nations forces. The attack was not unexpected, but the Soviet military was supplemented by their Eastern Bloc allies. Their advance was vicious and unrelenting, powerful and overwhelming. One by one, the Eastern advance claimed whole countries as their own; their armies were rendered powerless to resist the invaders. Normally, the the end of the world by nuclear fire would've followed soon, but with both sides having advanced anti-ICBM technology, nuclear missiles have since been stored away for later use, letting conventional warfare take the center stage.

In Asia, the communist-led China and North Korea had managed to conquer their closest neighbouring nations, but their advance was quelled by an alliance of ASEAN nations, lead by Australia. Slowly but surely, the two communist countries were being pushed back. On the other hand, the Soviets and their allies had almost completely overrun most of Europe. The latest country to fall to the East's clutches in the European continent was Sweden, whose defenders had bravely managed to hold out for three years of assault after assault.

Shortly after Sweden surrendered, German Resistance spies had reported some unusual activities being conducted on a Soviet research ship, the _Zapusteniye. _For some unknown reason, the ship seems to be setting course to the Bering Strait. The Kremlin had deemed the vessel to be very important, and had accordingly sent several escort vessels to follow it around. Desperate to turn the Eastern tide, the remaining Western Powers planned an assault on the ship, to determine what were the Russians exactly doing in the ship, and to see if they can utilize the unquestionably useful equipment within the research vessel.

Little did they know that the ship holds the key to not just ending one war, but two. A war on Earth, and a war in the continent of Valoran.

* * *

**DISPLACED**

**Prologue: Give and Take**

_0938 Hours, Fort Detrick, Maryland, American Territory_

1976 A.D.

Since the start of the Soviet offensive, First Lieutenant Jonathan Sterling had been assigned to numerous defensive operations in Europe. In a few months' time, he had been to numerous countries being besieged by the enemy. The lieutenant has personally seen the Federal Republic of Germany's last stand against a combined Russian and Czechoslovak force, Italy's mass evacuation from a Romanian and Hungarian joint offensive, France's successful defense of its territories against a Yugoslavian airborne invasion and Spain's marginally triumphant efforts to ward off a Russian amphibious assault launched from Italy. With his phenomenal skill with a rifle and his extraordinary knack for surviving near-impossible assignments, Sterling managed to come out of every engagement alive and well.

The same cannot be said to some of the men under his command, however. When Sterling was given his first command, most of the missions he partook in almost always resulted in 65% of his unit ending up dead by the end of the day. The higher-ups told him that he'd done everything he could, but Sterling's mind focused on one thing: most of his most trusted friends were now nothing more than decomposing corpses, laying somewhere in the European battlefield. Abandoned and forgotten, unburied and unattended.

The loss of his colleagues coupled with constant warfare had purged almost all of Sterling's naïveté and idealism, and refilled the empty void within his soul with a fiery hatred against his enemies. This left the lieutenant a very bitter man. He disliked having to interact with his fellow soldiers during the sporadic momentary lulls in fighting, preferring to keep to himself. He longed for the day when he was given the order to attack. Such is the way of a soldier like him; born, bred and trained for war... and nothing else.

In this windy Thursday morning, Sterling was busy honing his craft down at the fort's shooting range. A seasoned marksman, the lieutenant preferred assault rifles as his main armament, with shotguns a close second. He was in the middle of perforating his target, a holographic projection of a Soviet officer, when he suddenly heard his name being called by the fort's PA system.

"Attention! All base personnel involved in Operation White November, please report to the briefing room. Colonel Burrows wants to have a word with you," The voice stopped for a moment to contemplate on something. "First Lieutenant Jonathan, that means you!"

The message continued repeating itself for three more times before the system went silent.

By the time Sterling discarded his weapon, a M16A7 multipurpose rifle fitted with an underslung M28 shotgun, his artificial enemy had already killed him six times over.

* * *

The lieutenant cautiously opened the door to the briefing room. A few meters away from the door, he could already hear the colonel's thick Texan-accented voice echoing behind the wooden entrance.

The briefing room was fitted with the latest in holographic technology to give the soldiers a better presentation of their next assignment. As a result, the room had an odd, bright blue glow. Colonel Nicolas Burrows was standing on an elevated platform, partially leaning on a holo-desk with a simulated image of a Russian-made VTOL.

Sterling couldn't really care less, so he made his way to his seat, nodding at his fellow soldiers, getting quick nervous nods back and the occasional rare smile. Those who _do_ smile obviously hadn't known Sterling for very long.

"Ah, Jonathan. Didn't bother changin' to your civvies, eh?" The pudgy, grizzled colonel spared Sterling a brief glance. "We've been waitin' on you. Do sit down; you're a vital part of this op."

Never much of a talker, Sterling obeyed the colonel without much ado. He made himself comfortable on his seat before he unintentionally flipped his seat's armrest, accidentally hitting the person beside him.

"Watch it, lieutenant." The voice of Captain Hendrickson invaded the lieutenant's ears. He had an obnoxious Bostonian accent that complimented his wiry, devious looks well.

Two years ago, when Staff Sergeant Sterling and Second Lieutenant Hendrickson first met, the two near-instantly took a disliking to one another. Sterling disapproved of Hendrickson's excessively servile attitude when in the company of a superior officer and his overly gung-ho stance on war. Hendrickson didn't like Sterling because he perceived the lieutenant's silence and his 'lone wolf' tendencies as untrustworthy and unreliable.

In a low, growling voice, Sterling mouthed, "I apologize, sir." He pushed the armrest back to its previous position, making sure to hit the captain again. Harder this time.

Hendrickson winced in pain. He nursed his arm as he gave Sterling a blistering glare. "Don't push your luck, Sterling. I'll have your ass scrubbing latrines for the rest of the war if you keep that up."

An eye-roll was Sterling's sole reaction. Hendrickson was about to speak again when the colonel's voice suddenly intensified.

"And you," Colonel Burrows pointed at the captain, much to his silent surprise. "Captain Paul Hendrickson, will be in charge of this procedure. Have you been doing your CQB drills lately, captain?" The colonel projected a holographic image of a pair of weights on his holo-desk, as if to represent physical training.

Hendrickson's answer had already formed itself before he was even asked. "Affirmative. The test results should be already delivered to your personal computer, sir. I've also recently done and passed a few endurance tests here and there."

"Indeed, captain. Not only did you pass all of the tests, but you did so with admirable effort." The colonel sharply inhaled before removing the holographic weights and replacing it with a detailed image of the Soviet ship. "Back to the current matter at hand, you'll be in command of two small squads of NATO assault specialists, with Lieutenant Sterling here as your second-in-command. Keep in mind that those specialists have been doing this sort of thing since the two of you haven't made officer yet; so don't worry about their safety. Also, we don't know what the Russians are going to use against us, so you'll be required to be suited in full Nuclear, Biological and Chemical gear."

Some of the soldiers started shifting uncomfortably on their seats. Being covered head-to-toe in the so-called 'chemsuit' sure makes you really resistant to bioweapons, but being trapped in the suit while your own sweat builds up around your body makes the whole mission extremely uncomfortable. Conversely, Sterling had spent almost every job he was assigned to in an NBC suit, owing to the fact that he was in a biological weapons unit, forcing him to become accustomed to how the suit feels on his skin.

One of the younger soldiers, Corporal Tamara, stood up from his seat. "Uh, sir? When are we leaving for this op?"

The colonel waved for the soldier to sit back down. "Tonight, at 2100. Your helicopter will be insertin' you on the ship under cover of a storm." The holographic image of the ship was buffeted by a virtual oceanic storm, complete with massive sea waves. "The rest of the details should be listed along with your ROE sheet, so I suggest that before you head down your bunks, take the time to read it." The colonel's voice grew heavier and darker. "We don't want this to be a total loss of military resources. God knows we're gonna need all we've got."

"Wait, you mean we've got this assignment _tonight_?" Corporal Smith stood up from his seat and threw his arms up in disbelief. "Didn't the brass say that we'd be doing this _next month_?"

The colonel shook his head. "Change of plans, soldier. The spooks have reported that the _Zapusteniye_ is currently being moved to an unidentified area somewhere deeper into Eastern territory." A computer-generated map of the Bering Strait appeared and the colonel pointed at one of the larger islands that dot the Strait. "All we know is that the egghead ship has just passed St. Lawrence Island several hours ago. We need to act _now_ or we might lose the chance to inflict some much-needed damage to those communist bastards."

The soldiers started applauding the colonel, albeit some did so sycophantically. Within the applause, Colonel Burrows had started climbing down his platform. "That's all for today, men. Get yourselves organized, the Black Hawk crew will start a rollcall before they leave, so make sure you're ready." Burrows left the room, closely trailed by his cyborg dog, whom he is never seen without.

After most of the soldiers have left the briefing room to prepare for the assignment and rest, Hendrickson let out a brief, smug chuckle. "You hear that, Sterling? You're under my fucking command for the next twenty four fucking hours, so you damn well better do what I tell you to, or I'll have your ass thrown out of the chopper before we even land."

"I don't care." Sterling started walking away, towards the room's exit. "As long as you stay out of my way, we'll have no problems, captain." He began to open the door.

The arrogant smirk on Hendrickson's face shrank to non-existence. "What if I just pull out a gun and shoot you while everyone's backs're turned?"

Sterling's own smirk quickly formed on his face. "You can try, but it won't end well for you." He slammed the door shut.

The thick wooden door silenced Hendrickson's fusillade of insults and homemade curses directed at the lieutenant.

* * *

_0306 Hours, Bering Strait, Russian Territory_

"Sixty seconds, guys. Hang on."

Lieutenant Sterling stared at the _Zapusteniye_ from behind his gasmask atop his vantage point inside the Black Hawk. The research ship is _massive_, easily stretching for half of a kilometer. The storm kept raging all around the area, destroying any semblance of order within the sea's surface and conjuring giant waves that could've easily pounded a seawall to oblivion, but they harmlessly dematerialized upon contact with the vessel's hull.

There were other ships too, but they were just the normal, uninteresting, tide-resistant escort ships assigned to protect the 'Mothership' as the other troopers have nicknamed the gigantic boat.

The helicopter pilot flicked several switches on the helicopter's console. "Radio jammers are operational, systems are all green. Ivan still hasn't blown us outta the sky, so I think the stealth systems are working perfectly." A final button was pressed, and the helicopter's lights flashed red. "Thirty seconds. Get ready, boys."

The Black Hawk made its approach towards the ship's bridge. The strike team's first objective was to neutralize the shipmaster along with the navigators in order to prevent the ship from moving. The second objective is to have a small team of two to pave a way to the ship's helipad so that the NATO helicopter could land with the specialists. The third and final objective is to locate and procure anything useful within the ship's onboard science lab.

Captain Hendrickson pulled his gasmask down on his face and activated his NV goggles, making the lenses glow green. "Alright, people! Eyes open, shit's about to hit the fan!"

Sergeant Wesson extinguished his cigarette and donned his gasmask. Corporal Smith attached a magazine and a suppressor on his rifle before cocking it and Corporal Tamara gripped his sub-machinegun nervously.

A quick wordless prayer was all Sterling did.

Thirty seconds elapsed, and the flashing red lights turned a bright green. One by one, the strike team covertly roped down in front of the ship's bridge. Sure enough, the ones in charge of the ship _were_ in the bridge, with some of them having fallen asleep on the job. They remained blithely unaware of the Americans' presence beyond the bridge's windows.

"Pop 'em." Hendrickson whispered into his radio.

The look on the Soviets' faces was priceless. Their facial features had contorted into wide-eyed, surprised expressions as they came to realize what was going on. They scrambled to find weapons, but it was of no use. They died with the look of horror on their faces, and their bodies full of bullet holes.

Hendrickson inserted a fresh clip into his rifle. "Hostiles fucked." He turned to look at Corporal Tamara, the strike team's tech expert. "Corporal, get on that console, I want you to turn off all navigational and communications equipment, as well as this ship's automated anti-air defenses. We don't want that NATO chopper getting shredded before they even touch the deck."

The soldier nodded before heeding his orders.

Hendrickson raised the Black Hawk. "Sky Lance, this is Delta Six, first objective's complete. What're our orders now?"

"You need to clear the ship's helipad, Delta Six." The helicopter pilot responded. "There's a manned anti-aircraft battery guarding the area. That NATO chopper can't land with that thing blocking the skies."

"A-fucking-ffirmative." The captain closed communications.

"_Lieutenant_," Hendrickson accentuated Sterling's rank mockingly. "Take Smith and clear the helipad of Ivan. Wesson and I will guard Tamara while he works."

Sterling left the bridge without a word, with Smith in tow.

Walking cautiously around the ship, the two soldiers made their way towards the helipad, making sure to shoot anyone wearing any red on their uniform.

The sounds of conversation and laughter registered in the two soldier's ears. Soon after, the source of the sounds entered visual range. "Contacts, eleven o'clock. Up on the platform, scattered." The lieutenant warned the corporal about a spread out group of six Russians on patrol with his radio.

The corporal zoomed in on the Russians with his helmet's camera. "I see them. Orders, sir?" There was no response. "Are you there, sir? I say again; orders?"

After another second of silence, Sterling was back. "Threat neutralized, keep moving."

_What? _Smith zoomed in again on Ivan's last position. He only found six corpses on the floor. A trail of blood is leaking from a hole on each of their foreheads.

_Impressive._ Smith thought before he continued moving to the helipad with Sterling.

Along the way to the helipad, Sterling and Smith silently picked off numerous scattered Soviet patrols. They were greatly aided by the fact that the enemy seems to be exhausted with fatigue, and that they didn't have access to night-vision goggles to help them see clearly in dark environments.

Once the two soldiers reached their destination, as expected, they found that the area was guarded by two-dozen soldiers, in addition to the afformentioned anti-air turret mounted right next to the helipad.

"Smith, we aren't going to take these guys on silently." Sterling stated through his radio. "They're in close proximity with each other, so if we shoot one, another will notice. We'll have to fight this one out, old-fashioned style."

The corporal, his resolve strengthened by his previous successful kills, found no reason to be uneasy. "Don't worry, sir. We have the element of surprise, along with these goggles."

"Just because we killed several of these bastards earlier doesn't mean we're invincible, Smith." The lieutenant chided the less-experienced soldier. "You'll come to understand that when you command your own men."

"Assuming I live to see tomorrow, el-tee?"

"That's the spirit."

* * *

"Once that guy turns his back, I want you to put a round on him, then I'll take care of the guy watching _his_ back. And then… we'll go all out."

Smith pondered on his orders. "Are grenades out?"

"Yeah, of course. We don't want to blow a hole on the deck, not to mention alerting every hostile still ignorant of our presence."

"What about flashbangs, sir?"

Sterling's respect for Smith grew by a small amount. "Flashbangs are in. Just make sure you aren't throwing yours near some flammable sources. That's much worse than a grenade."

Hearing no response from Smith, Sterling acknowledged that he understood. Soon enough, one of the Soviets fell to the ground, the crack of Smith's rifle was muffled by the suppressor attached to the barrel, as well as the growling sounds made by the storm.

Not wishing to be outdone, the lieutenant shot a nearby soldier who managed to notice his comrade's death. Without a suppressor on his weapon, the loud report of his rifle was barely stifled by the storm.

Within a few seconds, the Russians have fully grasped what was happening. An officer screamed to his underlings as they took cover behind anything they could find. A moment passed before they let loose a barrage of bullets from their weapons, spraying the two Americans' positions blindly.

"El-tee, two tangos! Heading straight for the AA gun!" Smith reported as the gunfight raged on.

"Roger that, corporal." Sterling's voice remained calm and professional, but he was seething with revulsion for the enemy inside.

Sterling switched his rifle into full-auto mode and hosed the Russians, killing a few who were out of cover at the wrong moment, and forcing the others to duck into cover. As soon as his rifle went _click_, the lieutenant sprinted towards the enemy, with Corporal Smith providing him with covering fire.

An enemy soldier shouted to his comrades to cover him as he tried to move towards the Americans for a flanking move. He didn't have time to notice that Sterling had already made his way to _his_ flank before he got blasted away by the lieutenant's underslung shotgun.

Turning away from Smith, another soldier had just enough time to see his attacker. He fearfully uttered something in his language, but at close range, Sterling reduced the soldier's head into a bloody, bullet-sifted mess; his buckshot ignored the soldier's helmet entirely.

The rest of the Russians were now aware of Sterling's presence. They shifted their positions to counter the lieutenant's flanking manoeuvre. Seeing the Russians changing their tactics, Sterling dove for cover. Once he had the chance, he reloaded his rifle and the shotgun underneath it. Soon enough, the steel crate he was hiding behind made the loud, pinging sounds characteristic of metal being peppered with bullets.

The officer continued spouting foreign gibberish, and this alone was more than enough to give Sterling a reason to silence him forever. Removing the pin on a flash grenade, he counted to two, since three-second fuses always go off a second early. The lieutenant didn't bother with precision when it comes to grenades, so he just chucked it away at the enemy's general direction.

"Разброс, гранату!" The officer shouted in alarm.

The second he heard the explosion, Sterling removed himself from cover and unleashed a whole magazine's worth of bullets on the disabled Russians. Death came swiftly for the enemy, and by the time Sterling's magazine was empty, only three surrendering Russians remained.

Smith, upon seeing the brief skirmish come to an end, assisted the lieutenant in detaining their prisoners. "What do we do with them, sir?"

As soon as Smith's words flew out of his mouth, an answer from Sterling was already made. "Shoot them."

Having moral obligations, Smith had problems with killing unarmed enemy personnel. "They've surrendered, sir. Can't we just… you know, tie them up somewhere?"

Sterling was silent for a moment. "Okay, do it. After that, you take the point, I'll cover the rear."

"_That was easier than I thought._" Sparing a last look at the prisoners, Smith made the first step to the helipad.

Reminding himself to execute the Soviets when Smith was gone, Sterling bashed the nearest of them with his rifle's polymer stock, knocking the man unconscious and sending the rest squirming in fear. He then planted an electromagnetic charge on the AA gun, making sure to be at a safe distance before detonating it. The electromagnetic pulse from the charge permanently locked the gun in a disabled state.

Smith opened a comm ink to the captain. "Captain Hendrickson, the helipad is clear of hostiles, and the AA gun's out of the game. Those specialists could land now."

"Affirmative, they're making their way to your position now." Responded the captain. "I want the two of you to guard the helipad's perimeter from hostiles. If they ain't wearing black, assume that they're hostiles and act accordingly."

This is the first time Smith has been in a biohazard combat suit, so he took a good long look at what he and the rest of the team's equipped with. The corporal, like everyone else, is wearing mostly black combat gear such as boots, a kevlar vest and combat gloves, as well as a biohazard battledress uniform worn under his other equipment as his first layer of protection against projectiles and biological agents. He is also equipped with a modified gasmask with a respiratory muzzle on each side, a combat helmet and a pair of night vision goggles with the lenses tinted blue. His last piece of equipment is a small, easy-to-carry, kevlar-lined backpack.

Memorizing his suit's appearance to the last detail, Smith asked Hendrickson for further orders. "Roger, sir. They won't get through. Will that be all?"

Seconds passed before Captain Hendrickson responded. "After the specialists are secure, I want you to escort them to the third deck. There's-" Hendrickson was interrupted by a wave of static. It took him a few seconds to get back. "-al. Our inside men told us that the Russians are doing some sorta weird shit down there. For now, we're-" A renewed wave of static drowned out Hendrickson's words.

"I didn't quite hear a large chunk of what you said, sir." The corporal relayed. Nothing but static answered him. He then decided just shrug his shoulders and inform the lieutenant.

Sterling remained vigilant, keeping a sharp eye for any Soviets who wanted a 5.56 millimeter round to the forehead. He was in the process of doing a mental ammo count, when a gloved hand tapped his kevlar-reinforced shoulder.

"El-tee, NATO forces are inbound. Captain wants us to stay within the perimeter, make sure the area remains secure."

"That's it, corporal?" The lieutenant went back to counting.

"No, sir. He also wants us to escort the specialists to the third deck. That's where the good stuff's supposed to be."

* * *

_0344 Hours, The Zapusteniye, Third Deck, Bering Strait, Russian Territory_

The NATO specialists were just as badass as they were described. The joint British, French and Belgian strike force silently plowed straight into the Soviets as if they were nothing. Like grass before a lawnmower, the Russians died by the droves, and they didn't even notice. It wasn't long before they cleared the second and third decks of hostiles. Now, the Western soldiers are in the process of penetrating the reinforced doors to the experimentation lab.

Sterling, for the first time in his career, felt a little outclassed by someone. Smith, on the other hand, was only glad that he doesn't have to get his hands dirty anymore.

"Lieutenant Jonathan, I'd like to ask that you keep what transpires in the next few minutes to yourself." The British NATO strike team leader talked to Sterling. He pronounced the word 'lieutenant' with the British 'leftenant'. "The N-Cs back home wouldn't like hearing about this one. It might start another bloody panic."

Sterling nodded. "You have my word, Captain Tanner."

A French specialist standing next to the door to the experiments room alerted his fellow soldiers. "Prepare yourselves. I'm about to blow the charge."

"Are you ready, lieutenant?" The British captain loaded fresh shells into his shotgun.

"Always ready, sir." Sterling readily answered as he adopted a combat-ready stance.

"Great. Make sure to tell your partner over there to switch to burst fire only. I can't have a bloody Yank spraying the whole area with bullets, the R&D boffins back home might make something useful from the objects inside."

"Hey!" Smith is a little sensitive about his aim. "I'm standing right here!"

Sterling stared him down.

Getting the lieutenant's wordless message, Smith shrank away. "Roger, sir. Shutting up."

"We're ready, sergeant." The British captain spoke to the Frenchman with the breaching charge. "Breach the door."

"Oui, monsieur." The Frenchman triggered the device. "Breaching the door!"

As soon as the door flew off its hinges, the combined American and NATO strike force swiftly put an end to any Soviet resistance within the experimentation lab. As it turns out, none of them were even soldiers, just scientists with assault rifles. This tells of just how stealthy the team is.

The room was chock-full of various scientific paraphernalia. There are vats filled with various unidentified liquids and gases litter the room; a hastily scribbled note taped to each one. Hundreds of scientific documents, forms and records were scattered all over the tables, floors and the like. Experimental weapons and armor technology are also being tested in the room, as evidenced by a makeshift shooting range littered with pockmarks, scorched areas and even a meter-wide hole in the wall. Lastly, at the center of the room lies a colossal O-shaped machine mounted on a platform, with several fat wires linked to it. Judging by its position, the device seems to be the most important object in the lab.

Against his better judgement, Sterling found himself drawn to the machine. He couldn't help but move closer and investigate it. _This looks useful_.

"Looks like the commies are experimenting on biological warfare…" Muttered Corporal Smith as he studied the vats. "They've tried modifying anthrax to accelerate its process _and then_ tried to increase its lethality by ten times its original capacity... fascinating. The boys at Detrick's gonna have a field day with these."

A British soldier tried to make the experimental weapons and armor to activate, but they appear to be in a non-functional state. "Our R&D chaps have some work to do."

The team continued rummaging through the lab, making sure to check every little corner for anything useful in the war against the East. However, aside from the viruses and the experimental equipment, only broken, discarded and useless pieces of civilian tech were found.

"Hey, captain!" A Scottish soldier that goes by the name of Keira had in her hands a few sheets of heavily highlighted paper. She had her mask discarded and had a pair of unwieldy-looking glasses as a replacement.

Tanner stopped inspecting a scientist's corpse to look at the soldier. "What's that, sergeant?"

"These papers allude to something like functioning teleportation technology made by a multinational group of researchers. Apparently, they made use of a group of volunteers to use… this machine." Kiera flipped the papers over, displaying them to Captain Tanner.

In response, the captain tilted his helmet higher and removed his sunglasses. "Bloody hell…"

The papers show a detailed sketch of the teleporter, which is the same contraption that Sterling was fiddling with right now. The papers were littered with Cyrillic letters, but the sketches relayed the message well enough. Closer inspection of the machine reveals that it appears to be drawing power from a purple crystal that faintly shines in the darkness.

"The volunteers seemed to have disappeared for four weeks straight before they briefly reported that the teleportation was a success. A few minutes later, they were cut off by a hostile force. They never reported back, and the project was considered a failure and was shut down." Sergeant Kiera read the papers with increasing disbelief. "Maybe that's why the Soviets are moving this ship."

The papers show something very fantastical and outlandish. Surely, this must be just the ramblings of a sleep-deprived Soviet scientist, the Scotswoman theorized. "This is preposterous, captain. Besides these weird-looking gear and the toxins, I think we've just stumbled into a useless, unimportant ship."

"Nonsense, sergeant." The captain took the papers from Kiera. After a few moments of reading, he moved closer to the machine, next to Sterling. "Excuse me, lieutenant. I'm going to have to take this thing for a field run."

Normally, Sterling would object to letting someone use an obviously unstable machine, given its ramshackle appearance, but like Colonel Burrows said: 'We can't let this one turn out to be a waste of military resources'.

Without much commotion, Sterling stepped aside, pocketing the papers that Tanner absent-mindedly handed to him.

Tanner was quite clearly just pushing and triggering random knobs and switches that dot the machine's console. It appears that the teleporter, like most of the experiments in the lab, is in an inoperable condition, because no matter what button was pressed, nothing happened.

Out of the corner of the Tanner's eye, a glowing yellow button shielded by a plastic case sat innocently on one corner of the console. Not willing to let the mission turn into a waste of time and effort, the captain flipped the cap open and drove his finger down the button.

The machine started humming and shaking. Sterling and the captain took several steps back. The strike force prepared themselves to evacuate the room, just in case the English captain pressed some sort of self-destruct button.

The increasingly audible thuds of heavy footfalls forced the team to ignore the machine and find some cover to hide behind. The Soviets must have found out about the raid on their ship.

As it turns out, the sounds were made by Captain Hendrickson. "Sterling! Smith! Where are you?!"

It appears that he had been in a fight, as his dark kevlar vest is riddled with four bullet marks and his gasmask is now hanging limply by a strap to his helmet. He carried his rifle with one hand, with the other clutching a bleeding wound he received to his shoulder. Zooming in with his helmet's camera, Sterling could see that he's walking with a slight limp, and his eyes were wide with fear and anxiety.

"Hendrickson!" Sterling called out to the American captain. As much as he'd like to see the idiot get frayed apart by a machine-gun, one less ally can make a big difference to a firefight. "We're here! What happened out there?"

Relief washed over Hendrickson's face when he saw a friendly, even if it's Sterling's. He dashed towards his allies and slumped on a wall the first opportunity he got. "Those fuckers… they shot me and killed Wesson and Tamara! There's too many of them topside, and they're making their way to us now." Hendrickson groaned in pain as he pried off a bullet from his shoulder with his combat knife. "Fuck this ship, we need to get outta here now!"

Shots suddenly smashed into the wall the Western soldiers were taking cover at, peppering a Belgian operative's back with bullets, sending the man falling to the ground with a clunk. The Soviets are here.

"Watch the door, sergeant! We'll deal with the machine!" Tanner ordered at his French and Belgian soldiers, who nodded and covered the entrance to the experiments room. "On ne passe pas!" They cried in accord.

Sterling dropped three hostiles with a burst from his rifle before waving Hendrickson's attention to him. "Captain, we need to shut down the teleporter!"

Then he noticed that the room looks to be tinted in a deep purple hue. Strange... he could've sworn that he saw something like that before.

Realization came down on the lieutenant; the crystal that's used to power the teleporter was purple. A bead of sweat trickled down his neck as he turned his head to look at the machine's current state.

"Shit."

The whole room was engulfed in purple energies. Sterling, Smith, Tanner, Hendrickson, the rest of the NATO strike force and the Russians were frozen in place for what seemed like an eternity to them, but in actuality just a nanosecond. The machine's O-like shape formed into a churning purple void to hell, sucking anyone that couldn't hold their ground in.

Equipment, weapons, furniture and soldiers from both sides, dead or alive were thrown into the air, right into the abyss.

Sterling could do nothing but watch as a Russian soldier's body was stretched into impossibility before his whole form was sucked into the void. The lieutenant tried to resist the force trying to pull him in, but even with years of physical training under his belt, the force proved to be the victor.

He watched as his whole body was lifted from the floor. It wasn't long before the mouth of nothingness devoured him whole.

* * *

_0407 Hours, Bering Strait, Russian Territory_

Without warning, a massive, bluish-purple explosion from the Soviet research ship very nearly threw the Black Hawk into the water, but the pilot's manoeuvring skills kept the aircraft in flight. The two pilots inside the helicopter ensured that their aircraft would remain as it were before their minds shifted to the strike team's wellbeing.

"Sky Lance to Delta Six, do you read?" The Black Hawk pilot frantically raised Captain Hendrickson on his radio. "Delta Six… come in, dammit!"

"Sir…" The copilot pointed at the _Zapusteniye_ from the helicopter's window. "Code black?"

With an annoyed expression, the pilot looked at what the copilot is gawking at.

The sight was horrifying, to say the least. The massive ship had a gaping, smoking hole at the uppermost decks, with a few more explosions going on at almost every part of the ship. The _Zapusteniye _gave a shrieking, terrible sound; it's the ear-splitting sound of metal being ripped apart. Soon, the Bering Strait will come to claim the ship as its most recent prize.

Silence in respect for the late strike team had lasted for almost a minute. "…Yeah. Get this chopper geared for zipflight. Let's get back to the AAC."

The copilot silently cursed as he worked his way on the helicopter's console while the pilot raised HQ to give the news. "Sir, this is Sky Lance. Captain Hendrickson and his team are dead. We're returning to the Wasp."

The person on the other line was unperturbed. "Roger that, Sky Lance. I'll have your detailed report when you arrive. Out."

"Understood, colonel. This is Sky Lance, signing off." The Black Hawk buzzed away from the smoking, sinking wreckage of the Soviet research ship, careful not to alert the escort ships to its presence.

* * *

Compulsory Disclaimer: _In no way do I own _League of Legends_. The rights to _LoL_ belong to _Riot Games.


	2. CH I, Welcome to Valoran

**I. Welcome to Valoran**

_0000 Hours, Unknown Location, Unknown Territory_

Lt. Sterling drifted aimlessly throughout the swirling abyss he was sucked into for the past hour or so. He tried to move, but his limbs seem to be bolted into place, as stiff as they could be. He tried to speak, but neither words or sounds came from his mouth underneath his gasmask. As he drifted, he could see discarded firearms, magazines, spent bullets and even Smith's unconscious body floating along with him. For now, there is nothing he could do but think.

So, _this _is how you _really_ teleport. Sterling had watched numerous science-fiction films during his youth in rural Kentucky, but those films portrayed a very different version of what he's experiencing right now. For starters, one of the movies depicted someone yelling for someone to 'beam him up' before he disappeared. The lieutenant always thought that the teleportation procedure was instantaneous, not like what's going on right now.

Also, the question of how the hell could Sterling still breath remained a mystery to him. Maybe the force sucked in oxygen too? Maybe this place has oxygen of its own? Maybe in this place, breathing is not required? The lieutenant pushed those thoughts away for now.

The question of _where_ exactly is he being teleported to crossed Sterling's mind next. The possibilities are practically endless; one moment, and the lieutenant could find himself at the very deepest point of the ocean's depths, resulting in a messy death. Or maybe he could get teleported high into the sky, also resulting in a messy death. Or maybe Sterling would materialize in the middle of a battlefield between Western and Eastern forces, _also_ resulting in a messy death.

Or maybe, he would never teleport _at all_. Perhaps he's permanently trapped in his current location, doomed to boredom and insanity, unable to do anything but float endlessly across the whirling horizon.

Thankfully, the latter would never happen.

The area in front of Sterling literally crackled with crimson-hued electricity. For a moment, the lieutenant thought he would get a messy death as a result of electrocution, but the miniature lightning storm eventually disappeared, and the swirling, purple substance eventually parted, revealing an opening.

Sunlight poured through the circular tunnel, and soon, Sterling found himself being pushed by an unseen force towards the opening – to freedom.

This is it, Sterling thought. He could see the sun amongst the clouds; hear the birds chirp, feel the wind tug his battledress… he could even see the clustered trees below him too.

"_Wait… 'BELOW'?!"_

* * *

_1310 Hours, Labyrinthine Forest, Noxian Territory_

"Mother of Go-"

After falling for several feet in the air, the lieutenant landed on a tree, bounded off another tree, snapped off some branches in his final descent, and finally, landed mask-first on the grassy ground, knocking off his helmet and tilting his gasmask to an awkward angle. It was fortunate that he landed on grass, because if he landed anywhere else, he might've spent several hours unconscious.

Sterling stood to a sitting position under a tree. He surveyed his surroundings as he repositioned his gasmask back to the right angle. Seeing his surroundings to be consisting mostly of greenery, the lieutenant let out a sigh of relief. _Heh. Good thing I'm not in a position to die in a messy way in here. Speaking of which, where am I?_

Standing up and picking up his helmet and his M16A7 rifle from the ground, Sterling reached for his radio. His new objective is to link up with any US military forces in the area, after contacting them beforehand with his radio. If there _aren't _any Western forces in the area, and that he happened to be in enemy territory, Sterling would have to wage a one-man guerrilla operation. No way in hell he'd surrender to Ivan without a good fight.

So it was perfectly understandable that he was sorely disappointed when he found out that his radio was broken in half by his fall. That was unfortunate, but not significant. Sterling's only option now is to get out of the forest by himself, so it's a good thing that he always takes a GPS receiver in every engagement. The device has saved him countless of times when he's behind enemy lines.

Disappointment. The device refused to work because of a lack of power. It looks like he'll have to find his way out of this forest without the aid of his gadgets.

Fortunately, before he was thrown out of the abyss, some pieces of supplies and equipment were tossed out with Sterling. Looking at the ground, the lieutenant found several magazines containing 5.56x45mm NATO rounds, just the type his rifle needed. A few grenades of varying purposes were also present. However, the extra ammo, supplies and grenades are nothing compared to what he found next.

"Holy shit." Sterling mumbled as he lifted the rifle from the ground. He marvelled in awe at his luck.

It's one of the famous, British-made 'Finnegan' bolt-action sniper rifles. It was rumored that a single shot from the rifle is enough to kill almost anyone, whether they were armored or not. Inspecting the rifle further reveals that it's got a full magazine, but that's it. There are just ten bullets for the rifle, and Sterling will have to search for some more. It's not really his forte to use sniper rifles, but this one might come useful later, so he drew the strap and slung it over his shoulder.

_Wow, this thing's really heavy... one of Tanner's boys must have taken this rifle on the 'smash-and-grab' mission. How the hell he's supposed to use this monster in close quarters on a ship is beyond me. Poor sap's probably going to miss his gun, wherever he is now._ After thinking that particular thought, Sterling remembered that he's supposed to have teammates. It seems that the teleporter only belched him out and left Hendrickson, Smith and Tanner still stuck in that hellish abyss.

Or perhaps… the teleporter _already_ burped out his teammates, and Sterling's the last? All of these things, the lieutenant didn't know, so instead, he decided to temporarily forget about his team and start thinking about how is he going to get out of this forest.

* * *

This forest sure is one strange place.

In normal circumstances, ravens would try to avoid contact with human beings whenever they could, but one of them actually _landed_ on the lieutenant's shoulder as he tried to make his way out of the forest.

Intrigued at the sudden weight on his shoulder, Sterling tilted his head to look at what's providing that weight.

"Craaaw!"

This is _not_ an ordinary bird. Instead of an eye on each side of its head, this raven has _three_. Its whole body doesn't look normal too. It's not colored black, like a common raven, but its feathers are colored blue, for some reason. Furthermore, it doesn't look like a feral, untamed bird; it looks well fed and groomed.

The bird just stood on Sterling's shoulder, those six beady eyes staring directly at him, peering into his soul. Because he's allergic to birds, the lieutenant was grateful that he still wore his gasmask, or he would be in a very unpleasant situation right now.

The lieutenant was about to shoo the strange, mutated bird off, when he detected some movement coming from the foliage, moving directly towards him. The raven gave one last "Caw!" as if to say, "See ya!" before flying away from his shoulder, to an unknown destination.

Curious to know what's making its way towards him, Sterling stood his ground, but kept his assault rifle trained towards the rustling bushes.

Once the rustling stopped, and an armed group of people emerged, Sterling tried very hard to not burst out in a fit of laughter. There were eight of them, all dressed in pseudo-medieval, stylized footman armor, with each of them having a long red cloth wrapped around their armor. Additionally, all of them were equipped with a melee weapon of some sort: swords, axes and maces. All of which is strange, because they seem to be _real_, well-made instruments of war.

Deciding that they're better than nothing at all, Sterling approached the new group to ask some questions. As he drew near, each and every one of them unsheathed their weapons and adopted combat stances.

Feeling safe enough from a group of civilian re-enactors, the lieutenant shrugged his shoulders and continued walking towards his new company. He made sure to stop walking too close in the unlikely case that this group of civilians would indulge in their act too much and try to attack.

"Good day, I'm First Lieutenant Jon Sterling. Could any of you tell me where I am? Also, if you've got access to a transport vehicle, I'd very much appreciate it if you could spare the time to take me to the nearest military outpost in this area."

The 'footmen' looked at each other in confusion. Sterling couldn't blame them, it's not everyday you could wind up talking to a military man dressed for a biological attack. Then again, it's also not everyday you could wind up talking to a group of weirdos in medieval getup.

One of them, a tall, heavily-built, bearded man spat on the ground and approached Sterling. He was hefting a mace on his shoulders, and he looked ready to swing it in a moment's notice. Unlike most of his fellows, he wasn't wearing a helmet. In military terms, this makes him either an idiot, or the leader. Whichever it is, Sterling thought the latter to be the most likely.

In a gravelly, rumbling voice, the leader talked, "The Labyrinthine Forest is under Noxian jurisdiction. Any spies and trespassers caught will be required to come with us to Noxus and be judged within a military court." The leader's movements became more aggressive and commanding in nature. "Now, you can either come along with us, or we could put you down like the Demacian spy you are. Make your choice, we'd be happy either way."

Not liking the mace man's sudden, unexpected hostility, Sterling took a few steps back and warningly pointed his rifle at the group of 'Noxians'. "You people are taking your act way too seriously. Stand down, or I'll be forced to put holes in you."

Of course, Sterling was just bluffing. Even if he were to be ordered to do so, the lieutenant wouldn't shoot civilians. It's not what he signed up for.

To his amazement and irritation, the Noxians weren't even slightly uneasy because of his rifle. They even looked more _amused _than anything. "What are you supposed to do with _that_?" With a muscular, stubby finger, the leader pointed at the rifle, oblivious of its capabilities. "Club us to death with it? Ha! You're a funny one, aren't you?" The Noxian leader continued laughing with his cohorts.

Insulted, Sterling felt his finger press down on the rifle's trigger slightly. "Move closer, and I'll show you what I'd do with this."

"Do you really want to go against the Crimson Elite, Demacian? By the time we're done with you, there won't be anything left of you to bury!" One of the Noxians barked at Sterling, as if mentioning 'Crimson Elite' is supposed to send the lieutenant trembling in fear. In fact, he's more concerned as to why he's being called a 'Demacian'. He only threateningly cocked his rifle and stood his ground; confident that these belligerent gang of delinquents would back down soon enough.

"Looks like he really does want to fight. Elites, stay back, I'll deal with this. This is going to be way too easy!" With a guttural cry, the leader charged at Sterling.

Not really expecting a real attack against him, the lieutenant barely managed to avoid being smashed into a tree by a mace. How the man successfully carried the massive thing around and still swing it about with such efficiency is a mystery to Sterling.

The Noxian tried to free his weapon from the tree. Sterling used his foe's momentary lack of defenses to swiftly whack his attacker's skull with his rifle's polymer stock, sending the man kneeling on the ground, clutching his bleeding head in shock and agony. Years of training in hand-to-hand combat had honed the lieutenant's strength to a very respectable degree, even if it didn't really show from his appearance.

Not wanting to give his enemy a chance to recover, Sterling switched to his other weapon and painted the grass with the Noxian's innards with a single blast from his rifle's underslung shotgun. His opponent fell over with a loud _thud; _he died almost instantly with his mouth wide open, surprised and unbelieving of his own death.

"See that? Look what you made me do!" Not believing what he just did, the lieutenant kicked his dead opponent's corpse.

The rest of the Noxians were still shocked and surprised that their leader simply died because this stranger pointed his alien-looking weapon at him. They realized that his appearance suddenly inspired fear amongst them, and it took them a few seconds before they initiated a half-hearted charge, now clearly aware of what their new enemy is capable of doing.

Now deprived of anything resembling a choice, Sterling resorted to his only option: commit a war crime. "Screw this."

Sterling squeezed his weapon's trigger, discharging his rifle full-auto at the charging Noxians. The rifle emitted bright yellow flashes that were to be the last thing the Noxians will ever see, with the loud, booming sounds it creates as the last thing they'll ever hear.

The 5.56 rounds easily punched through the chainmail armor that the Noxians are wearing, puncturing their bodies and forcing them to experience a brand new way to die. Sterling didn't even try to aim. He just fired from the hip, hoping that the injuries he'll inflict would be non-fatal. Still, the Noxians died like any other opponent. One by one, they fell gracelessly to the ground, bleeding from the several holes that appeared on their body.

By the time his magazine ran empty, only two Noxians remained standing. They didn't even have the courage to fight anymore, seeing their most elite comrades gunned down like they were nothing, and that their opponent looks as if he was holding back. Being hardened soldiers, however, they marched on, in the vain hope that they still have a sliver of a chance of getting in mêlée range.

With his eyes wide in amazement that the Noxians are still after him, Lieutenant Sterling was left with no choice. He rushed towards the nearest enemy and fired a buckshot at point-blank range, blasting the poor man away. The last Noxian was shaken after witnessing his friend get torn to pieces by the magical fire coming from the stranger's weapon, but he soldiered on as he glared defiantly at the dark-clad harbinger of his death. When the last of his opponents was close enough, the lieutenant ended his suffering with a shotgun blast to the head.

Staring at the mess he just made, the lieutenant replaced his rifle's magazine and loaded new shells to his shotgun.

He sighed. _This is the first war crime you'll do, Jonathan. Looks like you'll be doing this a lot in this godforsaken forest once their friends find out._

The lieutenant could do nothing more but spare a last glance at the corpses before pressing on.

* * *

"Wow! Did you see that, Val? That was… that was amazing!"

From the bushes, Quinn, a ranger in the Demacian military out for a reconnaissance mission in Noxian territory, watched a heavily armed and armored group of Crimson Elite soldiers drop like flies from the newcomer's strange weapon. A fight that could've taken even Garen's Dauntless Vanguard at least several minutes was finished in less than seven seconds.

"Squawk, squawk!"

Sitting on a tree branch, Valor, the ranger's long-time Demacian Eagle companion, pretended to be uninterested in the scene, but deep inside, the bird was very impressed. He kept his sharp eyes trained on the stranger as he walked off. Curious at this newcomer, the eagle planned on finding a way to communicate with him, and right now, he found violence to be a sufficient enough way.

Earlier this day, Quinn and Valor had witnessed the man dressed in what appears to be a black Zaunite radiation suit emerge from a portal, like one of those Malzahar creates. Letting their inquisitive nature take over, the ranger team secretly followed the man, who looks to be a little lost.

"I mean, he just… pointed, his… thing, at those Noxians!" Quinn paused; she has been holding her breath for quite a long time. "And they died!"

Valor could only roll his eyes. The eagle flew down the branch and landed on Quinn's armguard to discuss his plans.

"What? No, Valor." Quinn immediately disagreed. "That's not the Demacian way. Besides, do you really think we could just take on someone who took out a Crimson Elite patrol on his own?"

Valor made some murmuring, questioning sounds.

Quinn entered a thoughtful state. "I don't know, maybe just talk to him?"

The eagle was astounded at his partner's audacity. He hurriedly squawked something out.

"Yeah, but he _did_ try talking to the Noxians first, right? If we approached with peaceful intentions, then maybe he'll decide _not _to kill us." The ranger grimaced as she recalled witnessing the last two Noxians' deaths.

The eagle gave his partner a hard, serious look.

Quinn gave her partner a rough pat on the head. "Don't look at me like that. I'll do the talking, while you stick to the trees. I'll call you if I need help."

* * *

Concluding that he really is in hostile territory, Sterling marched across the forest, ready to use his arsenal at any moment that deserves some indiscriminate violence.

The Noxian mace man told him that this place is called the 'Labyrinthine Forest'. Now, the lieutenant could see why. It looks as if he just passed this area three times already. Sterling's hope of escaping the forest was slowly evaporating as the time passed.

Slowly, the isolation made Sterling wish that the mutated raven stayed on his shoulder. "What would I do to see a friendly face around here…"

"Hey!"

_What? _Sterling prepared for combat, waving his rifle's barrel at the source of the sound. "Who are you? Get out here, now!

"...Do you promise not to kill me?" A feminine voice came from the undergrowth.

Sterling remained attentive; the voice might be trying to get him to lower his guard. "Don't give me a reason to, and I won't!"

Odd, the lieutenant could've sworn he heard a faintly audible sigh of relief and a bird squawking in the distance.

"Okay! I'm coming out!" The voice said, once more.

A woman outfitted in a blue and green, avian-like armor appeared. She wore a cloak resembling an eagle's wing, a single armguard on one arm, a quiver full of bolts behind her back, and an elaborately decorated crossbow as a weapon. Unlike the first group, who looked clothed for frontline combat, this one looks to be dressed for quick scouting missions, as evidenced by her armor's sleek design. Almost everything about her has an eagle motif.

Once again, Sterling found it hard to stifle his laughter. "_Great, more angry re-enactors." _

After a prolonged staring contest, Sterling broke the silence. "What do you want, Noxian?"

The woman was taken aback. "Noxian, me?" She laughed, for a reason Sterling couldn't find. "No, no. I'm not like those muscle-headed bastards you just massacred earlier. I'm quite the opposite, actually."

Sterling was startled that someone knew of his earlier actions. "H-how did you know I killed civilians?" He began to show anger, and the woman easily caught on.

"Hey, easy there." She latched her crossbow to her armor and displayed her hands in a calming gesture. "I'm not here to do anything harmful, if that's what you're thinking."

"You didn't answer my question." The lieutenant cocked his gun, training the holographic sights at his present company. "How did you know that I killed civilians?"

The woman wasn't fazed. "Wow… you really aren't from around here, are you? Those men aren't civilians, I promise you." She approached Sterling, knowing from his earlier actions that he'll hesitate. "Tell you what, if you follow me to my camp, I'll tell you everything you want to know."

She looked harmless enough, but Sterling had seen numerous Russian soldiers being judged 'harmless' before pulling out a knife and sticking it on a nearby allied soldier's throat. "What makes you think I'll come with you? What if this is all just a trap, and you're actually one of them?"

"Because I know that you've got nowhere else to go, no other choice to make. From what I could tell, you seem lost!" The woman let out a short laugh at Sterling's expense. "Like I've already told you, I'm not a Noxian. I'd rather shoot myself than be one. Now, are you coming, or are you going to just stay like that, aimlessly wandering around?"

"Fine. But if you're just leading me into an ambush," The lieutenant took out a bullet from one of his battledress' pockets, briefly presenting it before stuffing it back into the pocket. "I'll kill you."

The woman seems to have completely ignored Sterling's last sentence. "Great!" She turned around, towards the trees. "You can come out now, Val. He's coming with us!"

Sterling raised an eyebrow from behind his mask. "Val?"

The woman turned back to the lieutenant. "I forgot to introduce myself," She gestured to herself. "My name's Markland. Sergeant First Class Quinn Markland, 26th Demacian Exploratory Force."

Just then, another bird appeared and landed on Quinn's armguard. This one looks like an armored eagle, but it's a little too large to be normal. Must be an undiscovered breed.

"And this here's Valor." Quinn gave the eagle a gentle pat to his head, which the bird didn't entirely appreciate. "What about yours? Do you have a name?"

Normally, Sterling would just tell this woman to never bother with his name, because he wouldn't stick around for long, but given the situation he's in, it looks like he's going to stay for a long, long time.

"First Lieutenant Jonathan Sterling, United States 4th Biological Weapons Division."

* * *

"So... Jonathan, where did you come from?"

The lieutenant snapped back to reality after hearing his new company's voice. They were walking across the forest, to Quinn's hidden campsite. With his previous thought about his missing strike team still imprinted in his mind, Sterling answered offhandedly, "It's a country called the United States of America, or America for short. Have you heard of it?"

Quinn shook her head while Valor remained unmoving on his partner's armguard. "I can't say I have. I haven't been out of this continent yet, so that might change."

It was then that Sterling noticed that the Demacian eagle is still perched on Quinn's armguard after an hour now, and yet her arm still hasn't shown any signs of giving up because of the weight. Surely, Valor must be extremely light for his size. Seconds later, Sterling's eyes caught Quinn's armament, the crossbow.

"Your... weapon, it's designed like a pistol, correct?" The lieutenant drew out his sidearm, presenting it to the ranger, who stopped walking and turned around. It's one of the newer Italian-made 'Magistrato' semi-automatic pistols. "I mean, its operation is more or less the same, isn't it? I could tell from looking at it."

"Well, yes... sort of. This crossbow's just as light as a wooden stick, so yeah. You can wield it like a pistol. But," The ranger presented her weapon's 'magazine'. "I'm supposed to manually load each bolt in this section, and the crossbow automatically fires it away when I pull the trigger. Usually, loading a single bolt in a crossbow takes you a minute, but my city-state's engineers found a way to rectify that, as well as significantly reducing the weapon's size and weight."

Satisfied with the information, Sterling nodded. "Something tells me I'm going to see it used in action later, but we should keep moving until then."

The ranger nodded back. "Okay, then. Let's move."

Several hours had passed, the sun has almost gone down, and the moon has nearly taken over. Nocturnal creatures had already commenced their usual activities, and it only made Sterling more alert about his safety. The Noxians might come and ambush him and his group at any moment.

"So, uh... why are you dressed up like that? I can tell that you're a soldier, but I don't think that's the standard uniform for your country's army." Another question from Quinn slightly annoyed the lieutenant, but he found himself willing to answer anyway.

"I'm wearing an NBC suit. NBC stands for nuclear, biological and chemical, which means that this suit is made for missions involving the use of biological weapons from both parties involved in the mission. My most recent assignment involved plenty of chemicals, so I can safely say that if I'm wearing anything else besides this suit hours ago, you won't be speaking to me today."

The ranger laughed, but the joke was lost on Sterling, whatever it was. "Sure, but I don't think you'll be getting in close contact with any chemicals here. If we're in the Zaunite countryside, I think you'll fit in perfectly. Don't you feel a little uncomfortable with that mask on?"

"Not in the slightest. It's a necessity, actually. If I didn't have this mask on right now, I'd be breaking out some serious hives." No matter how much he denied it, Sterling always felt a little shiver down his spine every time he recalled that little incident with his neighbor's pet parrot during his childhood. "I'm allergic to birds, Markland. Your eagle included."

Without pausing to look, Quinn replied, "Really? Well, Val's not an ordinary eagle. He's probably the last of his kind, the Demacian Eagles. No one gets an allergic reaction to Valor, as far as I know."

Sterling snorted. "How could you tell?"

Trying to remember Jarvan III's letter to her, Quinn recited, "It's been told that they're blessed from disease, meaning that they won't ever get sick, and they'll never cause anyone to get sick."

The lieutenant was impressed. "Hmm… I never took you for the spiritual type, Markland."

The ranger chuckled a little. "I'm not sure about that, but try to expect the unexpected, Jonathan. That's how you live as a ranger." Her avian partner squawked in agreement. "And please, just call me Quinn. Everybody else does."

"And how about you just call me Sterling? Everybody does."

* * *

_1918 Hours, Labyrinthine Forest Fringes, Noxian Territory_

A few more hours of walking through the forest were all it took for Sterling and company to reach Quinn's concealed camp. It was getting quite dark, but it's no problem for Sterling, having night-vision as an option for his goggles. They stopped walking in front of a cliff face with a seemingly normal collection of vines clinging to it.

"Alright, we're here." The ranger brushed away the vines to reveal that they were actually hanging from the rocks overhead, and a hidden entrance to a secluded area in the forest lies behind the vines. "See anyone wearing red?"

Upon remembering that the Noxians like wearing red on their armor, Sterling had imagined that they knew anything about communism. "Negative. Not yet, at least. I doubt we'll be seeing the last of them in this area."

Valor, however, had a different answer. He shrieked something out to Quinn as fast as he can.

"What did he say?" Sterling asked. He doesn't know for sure if Quinn could _really_ talk to Valor, but it seems to be the case.

"Valor says there's a whole company out there, looking for a man matching your description." The ranger translated for her companion. "They're being led by Draven, but I wouldn't worry about him much."

"I'm sure they were flattering in their description of me. Let's get inside before they find us."

Quinn nodded and warily entered her camp, making sure to see every corner. "You've stirred up the hive, Sterling. Looks like Beatrice spotted you when you were killing those Noxians earlier."

Sterling also kept a good eye for any hostiles near their area. "Beatrice?"

"Oh, right. You're not from here." After having made sure the area is secure, Quinn blocked the camp's entrance with a clustered assortment of plants and leaves to make it much harder to notice. "You've got any fire rocks, by the way? I can't seem to find mine."

The lieutenant removed his pack and had it slumped against a tree. He also unslung his sniper rifle and had it lean on his pack. He didn't bother removing his assault rifle from his battledress' belt loop. "'Fire rocks'? What's that for?"

It seems that from where Sterling came from, it seems that the people didn't use fire rocks as an igniting agent. "Oh, you know… it's getting dark, and we need a fire…"

Sterling simply walked over to his pack. After digging through his extra ammo and supplies, he took out a cylindrical device with a metal top. "I've got something better, don't worry."

Quinn looked up from building a campfire. From a distance, she studied the device on Sterling's hand. "Something better? What's that?"

"It's called a lighter. Get your hands away from there."

The ranger slowly retracted her hands from the campfire, curious at what Sterling's about to do.

The lieutenant flicked the switch on the lighter. A spark came from the device before a small flame materialized from it. He let the flame touch the assorted combination of flammable materials, and after a few seconds, the campfire burst into flames.

Quinn was amazed once again. Looks like from where Sterling originated from, they used technology to ignite campfires. She was going to use the rocks to help her conjure a basic fire spell that she learned during her basic ranger training, but this 'lighter' seems to work just as well.

"Now that we've got a source of light, I suggest we get down to business." Sterling sat down near the campfire, letting his assault rifle rest on his lap.

The ranger also sat down and removed her helmet, letting her hair flow in the wind. "Okay, I'm ready. What do you want to know?"

Sterling's first question was the most basic one. "Where are we?"

"We're in the Labyrinthine Forest, a few kilometers west of Noxus."

"Right. What exactly is Noxus?"

That confirms it, Quinn thought. Sterling isn't from Valoran, or anywhere near the continent for that matter. "It's a city-state full of ruthless, malevolent people who don't really care for anything else besides themselves and strength. If you were found out to be weak, then it's a sword to the chest for you. I'd not go near them, if I were you. I've seen plenty of innocent civilians get executed in their constant raids."

In his mind, Sterling took what the ranger said with partial doubt. A nation full of Charles Darwins? Ridiculous. Also, she clearly despises Noxians, so her opinion is quite biased, to say the least.

"What region are we in, anyway?"

"We're in the continent called Valoran. Noxus isn't the only city-state in the continent, there's also Piltover, Zaun and Demacia. The latter is where I came from."

It was then that Sterling decided that he'll just get straight to the biggest question. "What world is this? I'm not on Earth anymore, am I not?"

The question sounded quite stupid to the lieutenant, but necessary. Right now, he wasn't sure if he was in Earth anymore, given that this is the first time he has ever heard of another continent in Earth designated as 'Valoran'.

"Earth? Never hear of such a thing. Is that what your world is called? Because the one we're standing on right now is called Runeterra, Sterling."

That was the answer Sterling was dreading for all this time. The teleporter didn't actually transport him to a random place on Earth, but to another dimension, or something similar. Now his new objective would be to find a way to get back to Earth, but how could he do that, given that these people seem to be relying on primitive technology?

Sterling clutched his head with his hands. "Okay, that's enough questions for now, Quinn. I need to think."

Unbeknownst to Sterling and Quinn, Valor was 'innocently' inspecting Sterling's unused Finnegan sniper rifle. The eagle was so occupied with tinkering with the weapon, that he accidentally plucked off the telescopic sight with his beak. Thinking that he made some sort of serious mistake, Valor tried to undo his error, as he was sure Sterling would eat him alive. Unfortunately for him, the rifle made some loud clacking sounds as he did some 'repairs' to it.

The lieutenant turned his head to see where the unusual metallic sounds were coming from. Seeing what the Valor has done to his rifle, he was about to stand up and retrieve his sniper rifle to do some simple field repairs, but he stopped when and saw what the eagle was actually doing. It was almost funny to see the him try in vain to re-attach the sight. Clearly, Valor is the most intelligent member of his species, Sterling thought.

The Demacian ranger gave her partner a disapproving glance before returning to look at Sterling. "So, you said you're from a place named the 'United States', what's it like?"

Sterling was unresponsive for a moment before he replied, "Yeah, lived there all of my life. My family lived is in this state called Kentucky, and it's a pretty nice place if you don't mind the smell of cattle everywhere. Rolling hills, meadows, grasslands… everything I could ever ask for, it was there." The lieutenant kept the part about the state being carpet-bombed into an unrecognizable wasteland to himself.

In order to change the subject, Sterling made a question of his own. "What about you? This city-state called 'Demacia', what does it look like?"

The ranger perked up. "Hmm... It's only the best city-state one could ever hope to live in." The enthusiastic grin on her face was contagious. "Everyone is nice to each other, justice is upheld more than anything else, and the average Demacian citizen is more than happy to give all he or she could give for the benefit of his or her fellow citizens. You should go there when you have the time, you'd like it."

Suddenly, an idea formulated inside Sterling's mind. "Actually, I think I'll _have_ to go there as soon as possible." He couldn't help but smirk at Quinn's sudden, wide-eyed reaction to his statement.

"Really? That's wonderful!" The Demacian seems to be quite pleased, but her curiosity took over in short notice. "But why?"

The lieutenant always loathed explaining himself, but in order to garner Quinn and Valor's trust, a person must be prepared to do whatever it takes. "You see, Markland, I'm not really keen on staying in Valoran for the rest of my life. I've got some _really_ important business to get right back to at home. I'm going to need some help in finding a way to return to where I came from, and from what I've figured, the Noxians aren't really going to take me in after I shot some of them. If your city-state is as good as what you described it as, then I'm going with you. If you'll allow me, of course."

Sterling hoped that she would, for his sake. The two rangers are his only hope of getting back to Earth. After he gained the trust of his new company, the lieutenant will then work his way to gain the complete support of the Demacian people.

"Sure, that's easy enough." She finally answered, much to Sterling's relief. "But I'm on an assignment right now, as you might have guessed. Until the job's done in the next three days, I'm afraid me and Valor are staying right here. Sorry about that."

Trying very hard to resist the urge to pull the grass beneath his feet in frustration, the lieutenant nodded. "_Hell, nothing's ever easy anymore."_

Resigning himself to his fate, Sterling made a proposition. "Right, then. Since I don't really have anything to do in this forest, what if I provided my services to the two of you while we wait?"

"Are you sure?" The ranger seems doubtful not about Sterling's abilities, but something else. "I mean… I don't have anything to pay you with right now, but-"

"Don't worry about it. The first one's free."

* * *

Valor, still utterly baffled by the sniper rifle's complexity, decided to fly over to Sterling. He made some frantic, pleading sounds to the rifle's owner, as if he was bargaining for his life. The lieutenant nodded, like he understood what the bird was saying. "You yanked off the sight, but don't worry. The rifle's made for easy repairs in the field."

So that thing's called a _rifle_. Quinn heard the word being uttered by Caitlyn and Graves from time to time during Rift matches when they're on the same team.

Leaving his pack behind, the lieutenant used both of his hands to retrieve the heavy rifle from the ground. He frowned at the damage that Valor caused; it was a little worse than he thought, but he'd never use the rifle anyway because he never had designated marksman training. Deciding to address the issue later, he removed the magazine and concealed the rifle with a blanket of leaves before returning to the campfire.

Seeing the fire was becoming weaker and smaller, Sterling retrieved some nearby pieces of wood before reaching down his pack and rekindling the fire with a canister of petroleum.

"What's in there, anyway?" The ranger asked, pointing at the lieutenant's pack.

"Plenty of mags and shells, some grenades, my sleeping bag, cans of cola, some books, bars of rock-hard, standard-issue US Army ration bars and a thick metal plate." Sterling quickly answered, having been asked the question multiple times by his superiors. Of course, he 'forgot' to mention that he had coke cans, or how hard the ration bars are. "Why do you ask?"

Quinn raised an eyebrow at the last one. "I'm just curious. Why do you need a metal plate in your bag?"

The lieutenant picked up an empty magazine and tossed it to the ranger. "Because if the bullets inside the mags get shot, they explode. I'd like it if they'd stay the way they are." Pulling out a dirty cloth from one of his pockets, he began to clean his assault rifle.

After storing the magazine as a keepsake, Quinn had another question for Sterling. "You said something about a can of 'cola'. What's that?"

Successfully stopping a laugh from coming out of his mouth, Sterling set his weapon aside and took out the characteristic red can from his pack. "Only the best thing since gunpowder, Quinn."

The ranger moved a little farther from Sterling. "Oh? You mean it makes people explode?"

The lieutenant couldn't hold his laugh anymore. This is the first time he has ever laughed in months, and it shows. For a while, Quinn and Valor thought that he's actually hurting himself by laughing, but he eventually stopped. What he did next wasn't really what he was planning, but Sterling would like to give this humorous girl a good look of his face to show his amusement, more or less. With caution, he removed his helmet and unsealed his gasmask, letting the two rangers see his face without any obstructions for the first time.

Quinn's sharp, inquisitive eyes scanned Sterling's features. She always had a knack for memorizing people's faces with just a cursory glance. This ability had helped her countless of times in her line of duty, and right now, she's very glad to have that ability. In the fire's light, the ranger could see that Sterling's features were a little weathered and craggy, but in a good, attractive way. He had a dark, stubbled jawline, and his brownish-black hair is cropped into a buzz cut. However, looking into the lieutenant's eyes were something that Quinn will never forget soon enough.

"I've got something like that, but no. You're supposed to drink it." As he pulled the pin on the can, he made sure to pull it slowly; he's been running around after all. Sterling held the can for the ranger to take, whom he realized was staring at him, along with Valor.

Furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, Sterling stared back at the two rangers.

Quinn opened her mouth to talk while Valor tilted his head as he continued to stare.

"Your eyes. They're so… different." The ranger couldn't find a better word. "By the gods, what's wrong with them?"

Indeed, Sterling's eyes were very unusual for a person like him to possess. When he first enlisted, they were a bright, lively blue - which his mother and his brothers all possessed. But after almost half a decade of going in and out of combat, sleeping in water-filled foxholes and doing commando raids on enemy bases suspected of housing bioweapons, his eyes were reduced to grayed, chalky spheres set in sockets of drained, colorless flesh. His eyes were of someone much older and wiser than his age of twenty-eight, someone who has seen countless of his comrades' lives mercilessly consumed by the fires of war.

The lieutenant sighed. "I don't know, to be honest. I guess war did this to me."

"War?" The ranger saw an opportunity to learn about where Sterling came from. She edged closer to him. "You mean there's a war going on from where you came from? Is that why you wanted to go back?"

"Pretty much. I'm a soldier, after all." The lieutenant slipped his goggles down on his eyes, blocking them from view, much to the ranger's consternation. "I'd like to tell you more, but it's probably going to take me a whole week to explain everything. Maybe later."

Seeing Quinn's expression turn sour, and noticing Valor training a glare at him, Sterling tried to strike another conversation, both for the two Demacians' benefits, and his own as well. Extra information about the current location couldn't hurt.

"What about this place? From what I could make out from the events that happened to me today, things aren't really friendly between your city-state and Noxus. Are they at war too?"

"No." Quinn's usual cheerful attitude was replaced with the appropriate seriousness when discussing conflict. "At least, not right now. I can't say the same for the future, though."

She took a long, harsh sigh before she continued. "Noxus has always sought to increase its boundaries by violent means, typically by conquering weaker communities and nations. We Demacians fight for those who could not do so themselves." The last phrase sounds rehearsed to Sterling, but he didn't mind. "Naturally, we've got a problem right there. This forest used to be home to a hamlet of woodcutters, Sterling." The lieutenant detected a hint of resentment from Quinn's voice. "When the Noxians moved in, nobody has ever seen or heard from them again."

At this point, the ranger's got Sterling's full, undivided attention. "Go on."

The Demacian ranger was seemingly pleased to see that someone besides Valor took the time to listen to her. "Noxus and Demacia have since engaged in a cold war. Demacia constantly sends scouts like me and Valor to keep an eye on Noxian activities, but we've never sent an armed force to do some intentional damage. Noxus, on the other hand, _did_ try in more than one occasion to attack Demacia's borderlands to intimidate us, but they've been repelled every time." It was noticeable that Quinn's voice had taken a more spiteful tone when she mentioned Demacia being attacked. Sterling reminded himself to ask her about that in the future.

"Our allies in the city-state of Piltover sometimes lend their support by giving us supplies and useful technology, while Noxus receives support from Zaun in the form of mercenaries who offer their services from time to time."

Sterling was amazed at how his world shares an unnatural amount of similarities with Valoran. It seems that the only difference was that his world had already been plunged into war, and everyone has access to firearms. In fact, the can of cola nearly slipped out of his hands as he listened.

"Right, Markland. That's enough for today. I think we should get some shut-eye soon, but before that," The lieutenant offered the can of cola to the ranger to take again. "I think you deserve to drink your first can. I can guarantee you, it'll be the best thing you've drank in your entire life."

"I doubt that," Quinn remembered how Gragas makes such fine spiced wine. "But if you insist..." With one swift motion, she took the can and gave it a try.

* * *

SFC Markland's Journal E116

_Labyrinthine Forest, the 'Blind spot'_

This day's morning is just like any other. It's the same, boring, everyday routine of waking up Val in the morning and hiding my camp from view, keeping an eye for any Noxians who might've found out about my hiding place and the endless, compulsory duty of roaming around the forest with Val for any signs of (non-existent) top-secret Noxian projects. Seriously, I don't know what these guys are thinking, butchering an entire hamlet just to secure a strategically-unimportant, confusing maze of a forest.

In the afternoon, however, I think the two of us might have stumbled into the one thing in this forest that's actually worth getting up in the morning.

Val and I were, as usual, keeping our heads down as we observe our surroundings for Noxians. The bird is keeping to himself, standing on a tree branch just below the timberline, and I'm trying to write entry 115 behind a tree. I'm up to the part of illustrating the entry, when we both spotted a purple swirling _thing_ high above the sky. Thinking that there's another Void incursion on the way, the two of us prepared ourselves to move out of the forest and warn the Institute of War of a Void portal materializing close to Noxus.

Hey, don't blame me for wanting to save our eternal adversaries. Being viciously mauled and eaten by a void monster isn't a fate I'd wish on anyone.

But instead of hundreds of bugs crawling out of the portal, only a single, strange man dressed in something resembling a black, combat-oriented Zaunite radiation suit quite literally flew out of the Void portal, flailing all the way down. Being cautious, I told Val to just forget about what we just saw, because it might be dangerous. Of course, Val decided to fly towards the man's position anyway, so I had to follow. We hid in the bushes, hoping hard that the man doesn't notice us.

When I thought that he was strange, I was right. His outfit was so _foreign_ in design, that I started to have doubts of its Zaunite origins. He had small satchels on both sides of his waist, as well as half a dozen rectangular boxes of varying sizes. He's also wearing a thick, anti-projectile vest emblazoned with odd colored patches. It looks protective enough, but I don't think it's meant for bolts and arrows. The trousers that he's wearing had big, overstuffed pockets that run along the sides, with what looks like a pistol's handle protruding out of one of them. The strangest thing about his outfit (uniform?), is that he's wearing a chemical mask of some sort, like what Viktor always had on his face, except that this stranger's mask had two muzzles on both sides. Complimenting the chemical mask is a domed helmet, which had a pair of hextech goggles perched on top of it. I don't know how he's lugging all of that crap on his person and still move like he's only carrying a few pounds in equipment. I suspect that he's carrying at least half a hundred pounds with reference to what he looks like right now, but then again, he might be using some sort of anti-weight magic, like our own soldiers do.

Studying the man's movements, I could make out that he's dismayed at something. After studying his environments for a while, he started picking up objects on the ground before walking off. What the objects are, I can't say. It's like they're from the same place where this guy came from.

Against my better judgement, Val and I followed him. This was the part where I nearly betrayed my position to the man, because he was blithely walking straight into a Crimson Elite patrol. Wishing him good luck, Val and I turned back, not wanting to witness what's about to happen next. What exactly happened next, however, was not what we expected. Instead of being put in shackles and taken away to Noxus or being brutally put down like a dog, the man actually _single-handedly_ dispatched the patrol with his weapon, which functions a little bit like the ones Piltovians and Zaunites use. I'm not really the kind of person who just shrugs at a scene like what I just saw, so I approached the man. I had a nagging suspicion that this stranger isn't from Valoran, but I removed those thoughts from my mind for now.

The moment I talked to the man (whom I suspected of being a soldier), I immediately knew that he wanted to get out of the forest as soon as possible, but he can't because this forest's confusing pathways kept leading him back to where he started. To make a long story short, I convinced him to come with us back to our camp in exchange for answers for his questions, partly because he intrigued me, and partly because I really do wanted him to find his way out of the forest. Before we walked, he told me that he was called Jonathan. Jonathan Sterling from Kentucky, United States.

At camp, after I confirmed his fears that he isn't where he thought he was, Sterling asked me about Demacia. If he asked Jarvan or Garen (especially Garen), he would've gotten a lecture that could've easily lasted for months. He was lucky that he asked me, because I only told him the most essential parts. After some thinking on his part, he asked me if Val and I could take him to see the city-state, so he could get some help in trying to find his way back home. I said yes, but he'll have to wait for three days until after my assignment's finished. I nearly laughed at his reaction; he looked like he's ready to scream in frustration, so thank the gods that he didn't. But the next thing he said was very unexpected; he offered his services to us, for free. Looks like this job's gotten a lot easier and a lot less lonely. Finally, I've got someone to talk to besides Valor.

After that, we talked. It's mostly about trivial stuff, but due to a lack of anything interesting to say, I ended up giving him a rundown of the situation here in Valoran. It's nice to see that he bothered to listen to me talk, but that's just probably because I'm the only one he could talk to, unless he could talk to animals. After that, what happened next was too embarrassing to write about, so I'm ending this entry right here.

He seems nice enough (not bad looking, either), a little on the serious side, though. Just before I went to finish this entry and go to sleep, at a distance, I saw him slumped against his backpack, writing on a small weathered book. Maybe he's writing a journal, just like me? I wonder if he's actually writing about me as I write about him. Ha, that's funny thought.

* * *

A/N: _The idea about the journal was made by Katherine Parkes, in addition to about 90% of its composition. Many thanks to you, Miss Parkes. The Enclave deems you to be worthy of preservation. __The information about America is from my Skype friend, TheOrangeBrigade. Thanks, man. Good luck on your studies._

_And of course, thanks to those who spared the time to read this story. I'll see you all later._


	3. CH II, A Titan Emerges

**II. A Titan Emerges**

_0507 Hours, Labyrinthine Forest, Noxian Territory_

Lance Corporal Hiram Merrick is now only a few meters away from the concealed refuge belonging to the renowned ranger team of Sergeant First Class Quinn Markland and Valor, the Demacian Eagle. This was to be his very first assignment in order to be recognized in the Demacian Defense Force as a full-fledged ranger. Merrick's errand is to deliver Quinn's new orders from Demacian High Command and provide his assistance to accomplish the ranger's latest task.

It was still quite dark, but it's not a serious hindrance for the lance corporal. Merrick was once a nightwatchman during his teenage years, and his eyes had been gradually adapting to the darkness ever since. Now, he's been putting his heightened vision to good use in locating his objective.

"Sergeant!" The Demacian soldier called out as he neared the hidden entrance. He brushed away the assortment of plants and vines with his sword. "I've got a package for you, it's from Commander Crowngu- argh!"

Merrick wasn't expecting another person inside the 'Blind spot' as Quinn had dubbed her hideout. He had his guard woefully down, so he was unpleasantly surprised when a shadowy, masked figure lunged at him from the darkness and tackled him to a tree, stunning him from the impact.

The figure then propelled two swift punches to Merrick's nose and his jaw before further staggering him back by driving a violent, heavy-handed haymaker to the right side of his head. The Demacian soldier spat globules of blood as he recoiled in pain. He fought through his dazedness and tried to swing his sword for a decapitating strike, but the figure ducked under his blow and brought two more concentrated strikes to his gut, which broke more than a few ribs, from the sounds of things. Then, Merrick grabbed hold of the figure's collar, with the intent of throwing it to the ground and finishing it off, but the figure proved to be immovable. It only did as much as swat the soldier's arm away and shove him back to bring the fight even again. The soldier figured that trying to hit the figure with heavy strikes proved futile, so he opted to go for swift jabs and slashes with his sword. Still, the figure ducked under and dodged every blow, which only served to exhaust Merrick, and soon, his swings became less frequent and sloppier. By now, Merrick is sure that he's thoroughly outclassed by his unexpected enemy. He won't last much longer under such a vicious assault.

However, the figure plans to take Merrick alive, so it feinted a left punch. Merrick fell for it, and was rewarded with a trio of swift, right-handed strikes to his celiac plexus, with the final strike having so much force put into it, that Merrick only barely managed to stop himself from emptying his last night's meal into the ground as his vision started turning blurry once more. He tried to put as much room away from himself and the figure by wildly swinging his sword, but he was too slow. The figure delivered a quick blow to Merrick's head to disorient him, which it followed up by slapping his sword away from his hand before grabbing hold of his head with both hands and forcefully driving the poor soldier's head into its armored knee. The Demacian soldier fell on his back in a semi-unconscious state. He dazedly tried to reach for his fallen sword but the figure kicked it away and drove a boot down on his outstretched hand. As he heard his fingers make disturbing cracking sounds, Merrick cried out in pain. Satisfied with its work, the figure picked up its opponent from the ground and locked him in a chokehold.

"Who do you work for?" The stern, masculine voice of Merrick's attacker was slightly muffled by the strange, inexpressive chem-mask he wore, but it was clear enough to understand.

The Demacian soldier tried to struggle, but the more he did, the more his foe tightened his grip around his neck. "Talk, or I'll end you. Who… do… you… work… for?" The figure's voice was getting impatient.

This is it, the lance corporal thought. He was going to die, and right when he was given his first real job. Merrick could give up the information that his enemy seeks, but he was a Demacian. He'd rather die than let his enemy know even the tiniest bit of information.

He stopped struggling and resigned himself to his impending death.

"Jonathan, put him down! He's one of us!"

In an instant, the figure's hold on Merrick's neck was gone, as if it was never there. The Demacian soldier dropped to the ground on his hands, heaving out a handful of blood.

"That's brutal, Sterling. A few more seconds and he would've died." That voice was from the famous Quinn Markland, Merrick realized. An avian squawk from the _in_famous Valor confirmed his thoughts.

"I'm still a little pissed that you drank half of my coke supply. It's a good thing you didn't share with Valor, or he might've drank the other half too." The other voice was from the bastard that very nearly throttled Merrick to death.

"Oh, come _on_, Sterling! If you told me it was essentially sugared water, I would've stayed away from it! I've got a _massive_ sweet tooth, and I'd really-"

"Sergeant…!" The lance corporal gasped out, drawing all attention to him. "You've got… orders… from the commander!" He wiped off the blood trailing from his nose and his mouth with the back of his disabled right hand while extending the left to Quinn, which was clasping an intricately decorated parchment.

The ranger gave the soldier a concerned, apologetic look before taking the parchment. She ran a thorough, detailed gaze at her orders before folding the parchment up. "Thank you, corporal. You're supposed to be the extra man Garen promised me, right?"

Merrick nodded crisply, even though he was still very much in pain. "Y-yes. This was supposed to be my first mission from high command. I could-"

"In your condition, I don't think you'll be doing anything, soldier." The masked stranger interposed. "I've got plenty of meds to get you back on your feet, but you won't be doing any arduous activity for today. Here."

Merrick was totally confused when his enemy from the last minute offered a gloved hand to help him up to his feet. "I'm sorry about our scuffle earlier. I'm not used to this world yet." The stranger said, his muffled voice sounded sincere.

With hesitation, the Demacian soldier took the stranger's hand with his undamaged left hand. Merrick couldn't stand for himself, so he was helped up by the stranger to a slouched position under a tree. As soon as he was comfortable, he questioned this stranger. He couldn't help but let a small amount of contempt to leak in his voice.

"Who are you, outsider? Why are you here, and what are you doing with the sergeant?"

* * *

Sterling huffed in annoyance; this is very typical of rookie soldiers. They always ask too many questions for their own safety, and it appears that no matter what world you are in, they stay the same. "My name isn't important, I don't know how I got here, and I'm taking your place as Quinn's extra man. Will that do?"

"Sterling," Quinn and Valor are watching from a distance. "I think you need to be a little nicer to my people. You won't be receiving any help if you act so cold every time."

And then Sterling remembered that he isn't at Fort Detrick anymore, where he could act like his usual aloof, detached self. In Valoran, he doesn't have anyone he could count as an ally besides Quinn and Valor, and even that's open for a change. With a heavy sigh, Sterling gave a hard look at Merrick from behind his opaque gasmask.

"Right, sorry. I'm not used to doing this." The lieutenant cleared his throat, which sounded unpleasant coming from his mask. "As you might have noticed, I'm called Sterling, and I'm a first lieutenant in my nation's armed forces. Like I said, I don't know the exact details of why I'm here, and I'm not doing anything considered inappropriate with Quinn, if that's what you're assuming."

A startled gasp nearly escaped the ranger's mouth, but she quickly covered it with a gloved palm. She was thankful that she was some distance away from her two guests, or they might have noticed her cheeks were flushed scarlet. On the other hand, Valor made a series of amused murmurs.

Merrick ignored the last statement. "But what about me? Am I supposed to just sit here and do nothing?" He was irritated at the prospect of sitting his first assignment out. "The commander will have my head for this, allowing an outsider to do my job while I spend the hours idle!"

Quinn stepped forward and gave the soldier three glass phials each containing a crimson-colored, watery substance. "Don't you worry, Hiram. There's plenty of assignments I could get you to do, but you really just can't participate on this one because of your... erm, state."

The Demacian soldier downed one of the phials before bitterly responding back, "What would you have me do, ma'am?"

"Well, you could guard this area while we're gone. It's not much of a job, but it's a start. Tomorrow, you should be back on your feet, ready for action." Quinn gave the soldier a reassuring smile, but it did little to lift his spirits. She stepped away from Merrick to retrieve her equipment for the assignment. Sterling walked after her.

"What did you give him, some sort of field-deployed medication for cracked fingers, broken noses, bruises and broken ribs?" He asked, eagerly. "I was about to give him something like what I said, but… what is it?"

That question sounded ridiculous to Quinn. Everybody should know about what she just gave to Merrick. "A health potion. We use potions for just about any injury, if no real medicine could be administered. Don't you use health potions in your world?"

Sterling shook his head. "No… but could you explain how it works? I'd like to know."

The ranger had limited training in field medicine. It was mandatory for soldiers like her because they were usually away from any medical personnel for days on end. "For starters, it nullifies internal and external blood loss, straightens broken bones and fixes snapped ribs, which is... I don't know, 60% of the injuries you inflicted?"

The lieutenant folded his arms. "Huh. You're sure?"

"I'm trained as a medic, you know." Quinn gave a wry smile at Sterling. She was sure he had an annoyed look behind his chem-mask. "Back to the current matter at hand, a health potion could heal anything you could think of, really. But still, it's only a temporary measure. If you relied on potions too much, the effects will wear off and you'll be back to square one, so you'll eventually need to get real medical attention whenever you can."

"Wow, that sounds a lot like magic, if you ask me." The lieutenant was very impressed. It appears that this 'health potion' could be considered as a predecessor to the Western Powers' restorative nano-injector, which is essentially a hypodermic syringe filled with tiny, automated healing robots. "It amazes me that this world looks to be relying on medieval technology, yet you have access to nanomachines. That's… very interesting to know."

Quinn scratched her cheek in confusion. She didn't understand the second half of Sterling's sentence. "That's because it _is_ magic, Sterling. And, um… 'nanomachines', what in Runeterra is _that_? That sounds a lot like what Heimerdinger has."

"You mean it wasn't nanotech that's actually doing the healing, and it's magic?" A brief chuckle came out of Sterling, but when he noticed Quinn's perplexed look and the stern glare Valor was aiming at him, he stopped. "Good God, you're serious, aren't you?"

The ranger's answer was swift. "Of course I am. Magic has always been in Runeterra. In fact, magic has been exploited as tools of warfare for generations. The uncontrolled use of destructive sorcery was what set off the Rune Wars in the first place, and that led to the formation of the League of Legends."

While the Earth-dwelling lieutenant found the information about this new world interesting, he recalled that there's still work to be done. "I think we should worry about your assignment first. You could give me a history lesson later." Sterling stopped to ponder his words. "On second thought, I'll just read a history book. What was the parchment about, anyway?"

"Garen Crownguard, a good friend of mine and the guy commanding my unit, wants us to scout the central area of the forest. Last week, I compiled a report to him detailing among other things, that there's a heavy increase in Noxian activity in that area." Quinn trained a glance at Valor to make sure that her partner was listening before she continued. "I didn't think it was really important because that happened all the time, but Garen always had an instinctive talent for detecting trouble. In fact, him and a whole company of Demacian elite infantry are on the way to our position as we speak."

This Garen Crownguard sounds like a good commander, Sterling thought. He sub-consciously hoped that he wasn't like Hendrickson. "We might get ourselves into something we can't run away from. Did your commander write that lethal force is allowed?"

The two rangers gave Sterling a confident, sly smile. "Yes."

* * *

_1031 Hours, Seattle, Washington, American/Contested Territory_

It was an idyllic October day in the city of Seattle. The usual chilly temperature of the city during autumn is strangely missing, and in its place is a warm, welcoming temperature of 23° Celsius. The wind isn't present, and there was not a single cloud in the sky. If the Eastern Bloc didn't select this day as their chosen date for an incursion in American soil, it would've been a great day for a family vacation.

By posing as civilian ships, and relying heavily on prototype radar masking technology, a Russian and Romanian invasion force had crossed the Aleutian Islands, bypassed the US Navy and got close enough to the city's beaches to launch an amphibious assault, with the Americans caught completely by surprise. American warships augmented by aircraft carriers scrambled to protect their territories, but their enemies were already breaking through Seattle's unprepared defenders.

It was like the Normandy landings, only with the Eastern forces acting as the invaders, and the Western forces acting as the defenders. Scores of Russian and Romanian soldiers were cut down by heavy machine gun fire as they dashed towards the Americans, but for every Eastern soldier killed, five more took the fallen soldier's place. Soon, the sands were filled with bullet-riddled corpses, and the sea ran red with the blood of the fallen.

"We can't hold out for much longer!" An American soldier manning a mounted machine gun shouted as he held the trigger, slightly dampening his voice. "Where the fucking hell's Church?! We need those freaks over here, now!"

Another soldier contributed his rifle to his fellow soldiers' fire after consulting his superiors through a radio. "HQ says they'll be here in four minutes, along with the tanks. They won't be sending anymore reinforcements after that, though, so let's make it count!"

A nearby allied soldier had half of his face torn off by sniper's bullet, sending the rest of the Americans scrambling to cover. "Anyone see him? Franklin, Gregson, Lorraine? Anyone?" A staff sergeant shouted to her soldiers.

"I'll find the bastard, ma'am!" One corporal decided to take a peek from his cover, confident that he won't get shot as he scanned the battlefield for the sniper. For his efforts, a bullet came zipping through the air, straight to his head. His helmet became a blood-filled bowl for his brain.

Fortunately, his partner didn't let his sacrifice be in vain. A yellow flash from behind a wall betrayed the enemy sniper's position. "Enemy marksman at one o'clock! Over by that wa-" He didn't get to finish his sentence. A bullet to the eye silenced him.

The rest of the Americans got the message clear enough. A blanket of bullets showered the sniper's position, sending him either further into cover, or dead. After their sniper problem was solved, the Americans went back to the other enemy soldiers rushing the beach. They held out for more than a minute before the Russians started bringing helicopter gunship support. Worse still, the enemy ships started bringing out amphibious tanks to support the advancing infantry. The Americans are in for a long, hard fight.

Dozens of American soldiers were slaughtered by helicopter-mounted machine guns and autocannons. Their bodies were either perforated or turned into chaff. Their comrades who were still alive were desperate to find a place to hide, while those who had MPADS had difficulty getting their weapons to lock on the enemy helicopters. The action of spending more than a second out of cover was rewarded with a painful, meaningless death.

Soviet amphibious tanks skimmed the water's surface. They were very lightly armored for better mobility, but their turrets were very powerful for vehicles of their sizes. The tanks easily outpaced their allies in getting to the front, ensuring that they'll have first blood. American soldiers died by the droves as they were run over or shot.

A Romanian helicopter pilot was having more fun than normal as he gunned down the hapless Western soldiers. In fact, he was having so much fun, that he didn't notice a purple, swirling void of emptiness materialize in the air a few meters to his right flank. His co-pilot warned him of the anomaly, but he was too busy to notice.

An American trooper had just emptied his machine gun on an advancing group of Soviets when he noticed the anomaly in the sky, next to an enemy helicopter. "Hey, look at that," He called for his fellow soldiers. "So _that's_ what the guys at R&D's doing!" Those were his last words before a bullet pierced his forehead, as the enemy sniper proved to be not quite dead.

The enemy helicopter next to the anomaly banked to the left, after the pilot finally noticed what was wrong. Suddenly, something hard and massive emerged from the anomaly's entrance and smashed into the helicopter with a deafening _clunk_, sending it aflame as it collided into another of its allied helicopters in mid-air. The two out-of-control Eastern aircraft spun in the air violently before both of them crashed into the beach, crushing any who were at their points of impact. Seconds later, another huge, man-shaped object flew out of the anomaly, crashing on the sandy ground with a loud hard thud. The circular void crackled with electricity before it dissipated, leaving no trace of its earlier presence.

The major in charge of the American defense paid close attention to the scene that unfolded in front of him and his men. "In all my years, I've never seen anything like that!"

He scanned both of the objects that emerged from the anomaly, especially the second one. The first one looks like a gigantic, weathered, barnacled steel anchor with a heavy-duty chain hooked to a metal loop at the top. The second object looks like an enormous, bulky titan of a man clad in an old-fashioned pressurized diving suit. The suit looks different, though; its design is very different to those used in the old days, like it's been modified for use in warfare in addition to deep sea diving. An eerie greenish-blue glow could be seen coming from parts of the suit.

The Russians and the Romanians stopped their advance completely. They were too busy trying to find out what happened to do anything. The Americans did mostly the same, but all of them were grateful for the temporary lull in fighting.

Slowly, the diving suit-clad giant stood to its feet. Two large red-orange dots appeared on the area where its shadowy unseen eyes should be. It looked around, wordlessly studying its surroundings. After what seemed like minutes, the giant trudged over to retrieve the anchor, its heavy steps making the sandy ground shake ever so slightly. Now, the Eastern forces snapped back into attention and levelled their weapons at the newcomer, which didn't appear to recognize the danger it was in.

A squad of Russians were blocking the way to the anchor. They menacingly pointed the barrel end of their assault rifles at the behemoth.

The behemoth stopped a few meters away from the Russians, as if it was going to say something. **"I wish to reclaim what is mine." **With a massive metal finger, he pointed at the anchor behind the Russians. The giant's voice indicated that it was a man; it was deep and thundering, with a faint echo to it. Without realizing it, the Russians have slowly lowered their weapons in fear.** "I would appreciate it if you would step aside, I do not wish to bring harm to anyone."**

The Russian squad glanced at what the giant was indicating at before turning to look at their commanding officer for orders. It was clear that they wanted to get away from the giant as quickly as possible.

Meanwhile, the Americans were shocked out of their minds. There was the onrush of surprised whispers and half-suppressed shouts by the troopers. Some reloaded their weapons for an inevitable fight, while some talked of trying to get the giant on the American side, seeing how they seem to share the same language.

"Did you hear that, sir?" A shotgun-wielding sergeant nervously asked his superior. "That thing just talked in English! Is he one of Church's boys?"

The major gave the sergeant a sour look. "I know, soldier. And no, I don't think he's one of us." He gestured for his men to move forward, right next to him. "I don't think these bastards are just gonna go home because some big guy in an armored diving suit took out two of their choppers unwittingly. If the Bolsheviks do what I'm expecting them to do, we'll count the big guy as a civilian. If he decides to assist us, we aren't going to let him."

A mixture of loud voices speaking in Russian forced the Americans to jump back in cover. From the sound of things, the first voice was quivering in fear, but the second voice sounded like the angriest man in the world, ready to maim whoever stepped in his way.

The second voice shouted something angry and commanding. Instantly, all hell broke loose afterwards.

Even if they really don't want to, the Russians blocking the way to the anchor let fly with their assault rifles at point blank range on the newcomer, but their bullets only caused very minor damage. Still, they kept firing in the vain hope of doing some actual damage. They were more afraid of their commanding officers than they are of the giant. After all, he's just a large man in a diving suit.

The behemoth shielded himself from the bullets being abundantly fired at him with an armored arm, but it only took him a second to realize that his new enemy's weapons were very ineffective against his suit; the bullets only succeeded in creating pockmarks. Earlier he was having difficulty restraining himself from his primal instincts, but now that these people had suddenly decided to keep him from what he owns, the giant completely gave in to his rage.

Using the ferocious, savage fury he was so known for as his strength, the giant drove a massive, ironclad fist on the nearest Russian's face, completely crushing it in a bloodily disturbing manner. His next target received a more horrible fate: being smacked to the ground before getting repeatedly stomped on by a metal foot. The rest of the Russians took frantic steps back as they fired, but the giant was surprisingly quick on his feet. He picked one of them up and begun to split him literally apart, like an overenthusiastic predator with his defenseless prey. The soldier's friends and allies did all they could to stop the giant, but it was in vain.

The giant ignored the man's agonized screams. If anything, it enraged him even more. A second later, a terrible, wet tearing sound was heard; the poor soldier was no more.

A Russian tank commander saw that small arms are pretty much nothing at all when used at their new enemy, so he opted to just ram the distracted giant to conserve ammunition. A very lethal mistake, as he soon found out when the giant didn't even move an inch from the impact. The tank crew could do nothing but panic when the giant turned around and glared before he climbed on the tank's platform. Roaring in rage, he tore the turret off with seemingly little difficulty before hurling it away at a nearby squad of Romanians. The tank commander frantically fired his sidearm at the giant along with the driver and the gunner.

The giant jumped on the commander, reducing him into a sticky red mess on the tank's floor. The gunner pulled out a knife and tried desperately to drive their aggressor back, but the giant only did as much as bring his armored fist down on the gunner's head to permanently put him out of the equation. The driver tried to crawl out of the tank, but the giant grabbed hold of his leg and ripped the majority of it off. He then proceeded to beat the screaming tank driver to death with it.

While the giant was occupied with his current victim, a group of Romanians and Russians formed a semi-circle around the turret-less tank and tried to shoot him down, careful not to accidentally shoot the allied soldier in front of them. To their very brief and painful surprise, the giant lifted a foot before bringing it forcefully down on the driver's corpse. A circular wave of extremely hard bursts of water materialized around the giant's ironclad foot, making the corpse underneath it to messily explode and destroying the tank from the inside before the water expanded significantly in size, tossing the soldiers away, lifeless before they even hit the sand. With another rage-filled roar, the giant flung himself further into the Eastern lines.

"Holy shit, did you see _that?_" An American private could barely contain his astonishment. "Man, I never thought 19th century divers were _this _badass!" He proceeded to cheer with his fellow soldiers as they watched the giant single-handedly hold off the enemy.

The sergeant with a shotgun gave his superior a rough pat on the back to get him back from his stunned state. "Major, we still gonna to restrain the big guy? I think we ought to give him some fire support!"

The major closed his open mouth. "Yeah, we should!" He was the first to get out of cover, waving his rifle's barrel in the air. "Let's have a go at it, soldiers! Attack!"

Giving their own war cry, the rest of the Americans charged in, eager to not let the giant have all the fun to be had.

* * *

_0711 Hours, Central Labyrinthine Forest, Noxian Territory_

"It's a goddamn fortress."

Quinn ignored Sterling, for she was too busy taking mental notes of the Noxian fort being constructed several meters away from their position.

It was very strange seeing a gigantic fort like this almost completely built in such a short time. Merely a month ago, Quinn's predecessor reported nothing unusual going on in the Labyrinthine Forest's center. Truly, the Noxians know their way around base construction.

"Should we take a closer look, or are we gonna just look around the fort's perimeter?" The lieutenant quietly asked. He was crouching behind a rock, because his outfit's dark coloration against the greenery would surely betray his presence to the Noxians.

"This could be something really important. Who knows what they're trying to do here?" The ranger took out her weapon from her side. "I think we should check it out."

Sterling checked himself for explosives before talking. "Right, but how do we actually get inside? I don't suppose they'll suddenly get really stupid and mistake us as one of their own?" Satisfied to find a couple of satchel charges, he went back to monitoring the Noxians' movements.

Quinn gave an amused expression at Sterling. "That's a pleasant thought, but that won't happen any time soon. The only way inside is through the main entrance, over there." She pointed at the fort's massive metal gates, which was being guarded by a sizable group of dour-faced Noxians. "We both don't look like Noxians, so one of us should put up a distraction to draw the guards away."

"Hmph, what're the fort walls made from?"

The ranger was slightly bemused at Sterling's sudden, seemingly random question. "The Noxians always used reinforced concrete as their main building material. You're asking me this, why?"

"_Concrete_? Ha, that's great. I've got a better idea that doesn't involve running away from angry guards." The lieutenant took off a small, inconspicuous-looking satchel from his hip and presented it for Quinn and Valor to see.

Valor made a tiny, unimpressed squawk as he fluttered his wings. Quinn examined the object.

"Mind telling me what's that plan of yours, or what that is?"

Sterling reattached the satchel to a belt loop. "I doubt you've seen a Lesale-pattern breaching charge before, so I'll start from the beginning. The three of us are gonna find the most secluded area of the fort's walls, one that's devoid of any guards. Once we're there, I'll be planting the Lesale on the wall. When I push the triggering mechanism, the charge should release an acid that should corrode the wall, creating a hole that'll be big enough for us to crawl into. We should have no problems with your assignment once we pull this off, assuming there isn't anyone behind the wall I'll be breaching."

Quinn gave an impressed smirk. Even Valor seems to be satisfied. "Well, that beats running away from angry guards any day. Sure, we'll do it your way, then."

Sterling gestured to the fort. "Lead the way, you two. We've wasted enough time as it is."

The trio silently manoevred their way to the fort. Quinn made sure that Valor stayed secure to her armguard as she moved, and Sterling flicked the safety catch of his rifle to prevent accidental discharge. More than once did a suspicious Noxian turn his head to the source of the rustling sounds, but they always thought nothing of it. Several times did Sterling feared that he and Quinn are compromised, but he went on. Eventually, after a few minutes of sneaking about, they found a secluded enough area of the fort walls, which predictably was the rearmost end of the fort.

Sterling took out the Lesale and attached it to the wall. He triggered the activation knobs and walked a few meters back to ensure that he doesn't get caught in acid. It was strong enough to break through reinforced steel in a matter of seconds, so it was quite clear on what would happen if the acid made contact with human flesh.

The satchel, along with a sizable area of the wall, was eaten away quickly. Compared to conventional breaching explosives, there was no sound, nor vibrations or explosions. It's as if the wall simply ceased to exist. The two rangers couldn't help but think about what other gadgets the lieutenant is equipped with, and what would've happened if he was on the enemy's side. Truly, it was fortunate that he wasn't.

_At least for now. _Quinn's mind told her.

Sterling and the ranger team stepped inside the fort, scanning their environment for hostiles. The room they breached had large wooden barrels lined up all over, with a single, practical-looking chandelier as the only source of light, besides the new hole in the wall.

"Looks like we're in a cellar of some sort." Quinn said, breaking the silence.

Finishing his scans quickly, Sterling located a door, the only exit. "Where do we go from here?"

"We'll do one sweep of the entire fort." The ranger answered. You'll watch my back while I plant some permawards all around the area. After that, we should exfiltrate the way we came from; leaving the hole as it is isn't really a good way to ensure your wards stay hidden."

Sterling turned around. "Permawards?"

"Oh, right. It's a device that lets a person see the area around it with the help of a summoner. They can't be seen unless you've got some sweeping lenses." Quinn presented the peculiar-looking surveillance contraption to the lieutenant. "I'll be placing these around key areas around the fort, but... there's just one problem about that."

"What is it?" Sterling questioned as he pushed the door open with his rifle, keeping a close eye for movement inside the next room.

Quinn remained behind Sterling, with Valor keeping quiet on her armguard. "If the fort's occupants are sticking true to Noxian rules around fortifications, they should use sweeping lenses around the fort once every week, so they'll _eventually_ know that someone's been snooping around in their fort. We should get this done quickly and report back to Garen."

As he scanned the area, Sterling thought over Quinn's words. It was then that he remembered that he was equipped with something that could be a better alternative to these 'permawards'.

"I've got a solution for that. Here." He took out a spherical device with a sharp end protruding out of the bottom.

"Gods, Sterling. You're probably carrying a trinket for every situation, don't you?" The ranger jokingly asked. "What does it do?"

"In my world, it's called the Oculus Field-Deployed Hidden Surveillance Device. They're also hidden from sight, and it pretty much works the same as your permawards, but you don't need a... what was that?"

"Summoner."

"Yeah. You don't need a summoner to see what the camera sees. You just need a secure connection to the Oculus and a receiving de-"

The sudden sound of footsteps forced the two to cut their conversation short in order to hide. Sterling crouched behind a collection of barrels, Quinn found a wooden crate to hide behind, and Valor flew into the rafters. Seconds later, two men entered the room.

The first man was wearing obtrusively bright and lurid clothes, had his hair in a single, tall spike, and had an impressive-looking 'Fu Manchu'-style mustache, which appeared to be well-attended. If Sterling didn't know any better, he looked like an entertainer of a sort. However, his body had the build of a soldier, with light-brown markings all over his arms.

The second man was very obviously a soldier. He wore heavy Noxian armor, with a red cape covering it. Like the first man, his hair was up in a spike. Unlike the first man, his expression is a typical Noxian's - stern and dour. The man holds himself in an aura that spoke of veterancy and command.

It was pretty clear that they were related. They were most likely siblings.

"-word about the dark-clad interloper Swain's pet bird found yesterday?" The second, crimson-armored soldier asked the first, lightly-armored one. "He should be dealt with swiftly. If word gets around that a single man dispatched Captain Severus' squad, the Demacians would sure to get their spirits up. We can't let those uppity, holier-than-thou boy scouts thinking we're getting weak."

The first soldier sighed. From what Sterling could tell, the man was not used to having a frown on his face. "Not yet, Darius. But do you really think we should just kill him and leave it at that? A man who could take down an eight-man squad of Crimson Elite soldiers is a strong man indeed. Draven thinks he deserves a place in our society." Why Draven referred to himself in third-person is beyond Sterling.

Darius looks unconvinced. "Are you saying we should recruit him to our cause? What makes you think he'll consider an offer, after he just killed some of our men? No doubt that Severus tried arresting him first, which didn't turn out as well as he had hoped."

"Look, brother," Draven stooped down to retrieve a wooden cup near one of the mead barrels. "It must be just a big misunderstanding. Severus must have provoked this stranger into attacking him and his squad. If we couldn't get this man on our side, who's to say he'll stay out of our fight? You know that there are Demacian forces inside the forest's perimeter; if he'd found himself encountering them, they might try recruiting him on their side." With that said, he opened one of the barrels and filled his cup with alcohol. He downed it in one gulp.

Darius had a barely noticable look of disgust upon his face. Whether out of an aversion to alcohol or out of his younger brother's idea of recruiting a murderer, Sterling didn't know. He was only glad that the brothers seem to be oblivious to him or Quinn's presence. "The Demacians? Ha, they'd sooner recruit trolls into their army than let the likes of him in. I'd wager this stranger would resort to banditry if we didn't put him down soon."

"Ah, whatever. Draven's gonna go get this barrel out of here and get something to eat." With a bit of difficulty, Draven lifted the mead barrel and staggered out of the room. "Oh, and by the way," He stopped and turned around to face his brother. "Have you seen Katarina anywhere? Draven's heard from her the other day saying that she's going to go check on a lead she has on her father, but then she disappeared."

The older brother snorted. "I haven't. She and Crownguard are probably... 'dueling', in their hidden meeting place, wherever that is. She'd turn up sooner or later, brother."

The younger brother heaved out a mirthful chuckle. "Heh, she can ask Draven for a 'duel' anytime she wants." But then his expression turned deadly serious. "But seriously; we need to get rid of that bastard soon."

Darius' face lightened up a bit. "On that, I agree." He turned to leave the room. Sterling slackened his stance a bit, but in doing so, an empty magazine cartridge fell from his pocket. It clattered lightly on the floor.

_Oh, no._

Instantly, Darius stopped on his tracks. He turned around, very slowly and warily. "Draven, I heard something." He retrieved his axe from his back. "Get over here."

"What? Oh, come on! Now? Now your paranoid instincts kicked in? There's no one out there, Darius! You're wasting your time!" Draven's exasperated voice could be clearly heard coming from outside the room.

Sterling prepared to let loose a burst of assault rifle fire on the Noxians. He knew quite well that in doing so, he'd alert every Noxian psycho inside the fort. He tensed up, preparing for the right moment... which never came.

"Huh. Probably just a rat." He heard Darius' voice say, before his footsteps became less audible as the seconds went by.

He just sat behind a barrel, thinking about how damn fortunate he was. He didn't come out of his stupor until he heard Quinn's voice.

"I think we're clear! We can get out now."

Slowly and carefully, the trio left the cellar.

Quinn let out a sigh of relief as she patted Valor's head. "That... that was too close for comfort. Wouldn't you agree, Val?"

"I'm guessing those two are somewhat significant to you?" The lieutenant asked.

"Yeah, they are. Those brothers are the best soldiers in the entire godsdamned Noxian military. Whatever they're planning to do here, it must be really important if Darkwill bothered sending those two. We should get moving."

Sterling remained silent as they traversed the fort.

* * *

_1059 Hours, Seattle, Washington, American/Contested Territory_

"Major Kowalczyk, this is Colonel Church. We've brought some heavy armor and a few walkers in tow." A heavily muffled voice came from the radio. "We're just a few blocks away from the beach now. I've heard you could use some reinforcements, yes?"

Major Stanislaw Kowalczyk ducked under a wall of sandbars to avoid a hail of bullets flying his way. He ordered a few of his men to cover him as he answered his radio.

"Colonel! Thank God you're here. Yeah, we could use some of your help earlier, but there's a third party that's been providing us more help than we could've expected from a single man!" He enthusiastically said. As if to confirm his sentence, a furious, resounding roar from the giant could be faintly heard from the distance.

A few blocks away, inside his personal APC, Colonel David Church furrowed his brows in confusion. "What? A civilian?"

"You've got to see for yourself, colonel! It's quite a sight!" Was the major's response before he cut comms.

Meanwhile, back at Major Stanislaw's position, the giant continued sowing death and destruction among the Eastern forces. He finally reunited himself with his precious anchor and use it to great effect, he did.

Normally, now that he had what he needed, the giant would've just walked away, but the men around him kept shooting at him. But even in his rage-consumed mind, he still managed to think.

_These men numbered in the thousands. There is only so much I could bear before I expire from exhaustion. I must retreat._ Those were his thoughts.

Forcefully tugging his anchor away from the remains of a Romanian soldier, the giant shielded himself with it as he took steps back. Instantly, the enemy knew they were finally wearing the giant down, so they pressed forward; faster and more bolder than ever. Infantry emptied their rifles into the giant, gunships provided aerial support, and tanks used up their shells to penetrate his armor.

Staggering back from the sudden assault, the giant once more used up his rage to project a magical shield around himself. Just when he was about to fully turn back and retreat, one of the tanks in front of him suddenly exploded, and the infantry at the front flinched before keeling over, dead. The giant turned around and found more soldiers.

He prepared his swinging arm for another assault, but he found that these men weren't firing at him, but at the _other _ones behind him. The ones who he made enemies with for a reason he couldn't find._  
_

_Allies, finally. Perhaps there is still hope for winning this battle._ The giant discarded his current plans and charged forward again, confident of success.

The Eastern tide relented again, after seeing the giant and the Americans working together. The American soldiers provided the means for the giant to get close to the enemy, while the giant pulverized the opposition with extreme prejudice.

"Hey, you! That big guy in the diving suit!" One of the giant's temporary allies shouted at him. He could tell from the man's uniform that he is a high-ranking officer of a sort. "We could use your help taking out that big gun over there!" He pointed at a massive artillery piece at least a hundred meters away, which was being guarded by a small group of tanks with infantry support.

He gave a quick, small nod at the officer, for he was too consumed with rage to talk, but he was in control of his own body enough not to flatten everyone in sight. He could recognize allies when he saw them.

Meanwhile, Colonel Church's forces have finally reached their objective. They were instantly rooted to the ground in shock at what they saw: an enormous man in an antique diving suit hefting an equally enormous anchor, rushing towards a heavily guarded artillery piece with seemingly no regard for his own safety. They expected him to fall at the first volley of tank shells and gunfire, but he strangely shrugged off all projectiles. Church himself ordered his personal vehicle to a halt before running towards the front, just so he could see the giant with his own eyes.

Him and his battalion of seven-hundred men watched in awe and wonder as the giant brushed away tanks by swinging his anchor, killed several groups of infantry with one sweep, and finally, used some sort of otherworldly power to project a creeping barrage of watery explosions with the simple act of striking his anchor on the sandy ground. The explosions tore across the enemy ranks before utterly destroying the artillery piece, with the giant seemingly being no worse for wear.

"Well, holy crap." Was all Church could muster to say.

His second-in-command, a lieutenant colonel by the name of Solomon, tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Sir? What do we do now?"

Church shook himself. "Uh, err... this is unexpected, but we'll still go according to the plan. They've got plenty of anti-armor weaponry, and the environment isn't really favorable for our tanks, so the infantry will be in front in a box formation, followed by the walkers. Tanks'll be taking a support role for this one." For a moment, he thought over allowing the giant to continue assisting, but his immeasurable strength and resilience couldn't be denied.

"Let's get our jobs done quickly, and leave that... thing, alone. I wouldn't want to provoke it; a lot of questions needed to be asked."

* * *

"Gunship at three o'clock, find cover!" Staff Sergeant Miranda Clarkson cried out to her squad, who immediately obeyed, lest they find themselves perforated by autocannon and machine gun fire.

Clarkson called for PFC Lorraine, who was hefting an MPADS on his shoulders.

"Ma'am? What do you need me to do?!" He shouted back.

In response, Clarkson threw a rock at him. "You've got an anti-aircraft, surface-to-air missile launcher!" She then pointed at the enemy gunship. "Over there is an enemy aircraft! FIGURE IT OUT!"

"Y-yes, ma'am!" Lorraine promptly popped out of cover and fired at the gunship. He neglected locking on to it, so the missile was easily dodged.

Clarkson threw another rock, harder this time. "Idiot! Do you know how expensive those missiles are? Fire another one, and make sure it's locked this time!"

However, Lorraine only shook his head mournfully. He was out of missiles.

Miranda was left slack-jawed. Her squad of five men was cut-off from support, and now, there's no stopping the gunship from circling around their cover and shooting them to death.

Luckily for her, the giant was sprinting towards the gunship. He grabbed hold of the chains attached to his anchor and spun it to gain momentum. A second later, with a mighty throw, the anchor was flung into the air, straight towards the aircraft.

The gunship pilot clearly wasn't expecting the giant to be a threat to him, so the anchor had no problems lodging itself into his aircraft. He struggled to maintain altitude, but it was no use. The giant planned to take his aircraft down, and take it down he did, via forcefully pulling his anchor down. The gunship fell the the ground like a rock, crashing with a sizable explosion that took a few nearby soldiers with it in death.

Clarkson and her squad stood still for a moment, watching in awe. They only returned to work when a nearby explosion very nearly took their cover away from them.

_Now that thing's just showing off. Still, he took down a gunship with a rusty anchor. He's good, I'll give him that. _Clarkson thought before returning fire.

"Sergeant Clarkson!" Kowalczyk's voice was heard from the staff sergeant's radio. "Clarkson, you need to pull your squad back, now. Enemy warships are preparing to bombard your position with shells, I repeat: pull back, now. That's an order!"

Miranda emptied the rest of her magazine into an advancing group of Russians before motioning for her squad to retreat, leaving the giant to fight alone. His mind was too clouded with rage to notice Miranda's squad pulling back. He kept fighting with no intention of retreating, completely oblivious that his position was about to be bombarded liberally by a trio of Russian battleships. Soon enough, the warships unleashed broadside after broadside on the giant's coordinates. They were unconcerned that there were several squads of their own troops still locked in combat with the giant, they simply cared about taking the man responsible for stalling their invasion and inflicting heavy losses down.

The giant fought on, totally unconcerned about the explosions all around him. He was in the middle of literally cracking open another tank when an artillery shell managed to score a direct hit on him. His vision went black, and for a moment, he felt his rage dissipate and in its place, searing, mind-consuming pain.

He knew nothing after that.

* * *

_0748 Hours, Unfinished Noxian Fort, Central Labyrinthine Forest, Noxian Territory_

"There."

Sterling planted his last Oculus device in a dark corner of the Noxian fort's central chambers. Valor stood guard just outside the room, just in case someone decides to investigate. In addition, the central chambers had all sorts of documents and orders lining the bookshelves, which Quinn had taken in order to strengthen her cause.

Earlier, an announcement was made which called for all Noxian personnel to proceed to the courtyard on orders from the fort commander. Quinn had taken the momentary lack of Noxian presence to her advantage by pulling a seat and reading one of the documents. It details all Noxian plans for the Labyrinthine Forest, including the reasons why a fort was built on a strategically unimportant (and unsafe) area of the forest.

"Hmm... interesting." The ranger used a quill pen to mark some parts of the document.

Sterling walked over to her, his rifle slung over his shoulders. "Found something?"

"Yes. According to this, the Noxians are trying to unearth some sort of enchanted artifact - a dagger, of all things - somewhere in this forest. Apparently, this dagger's been used by some folklore hero to banish a monster that used to prowl the forest's boundaries. It's said that this dagger could be used to summon that monster back to the material world, obeying the will of the summoner." Quinn marked an illustration of the subject in hand with a red circle and displayed the document for the lieutenant to see.

"Huh, it's a knife."

"Whatever it is, the Noxians wanted it." The ranger took the document away. "We need to put a stop to that."

The lieutenant folded his arms. "You mean we're going to wait for your commander to arrive, and then I'll provide my assistance as you storm this fort."

"Quite perceptive of you, Sterling." The ranger stood up from her seat and retrieved her equipment. "And with your fancy hextech-y gadgets giving us a clear view of what exactly are the Noxians doing inside their little fort, it's going to be a hell of a lot easier. Come on, we should get back to camp. It won't be long before they go back to their posts." She whistled to her partner, who immediately flew to her armguard.

"Right," The lieutenant stood in alert again. "What exactly have your people in store for me, once I provide them my help?" He asked as he did a quick ammo check.

"I don't know, but I think Jarvan III himself would like to have a look at you. Who knows, he might just have something that could help you find your way back to your world."

The lieutenant figured that this Jarvan III must hold some significance in this world. With a name like that, he _must_ be. "I'm guessing he won't be helping me out for free. I think he'll want my services in return."

"Hope for the best, Sterling." Quinn spoke in a cheerful voice.

Sterling sighed grimly. "But prepare for the worst, Quinn."

"Oh, don't be like that." Quinn tried to put some optimism into Sterling. "You'll find your way back home soon enough."

Sterling remained unmoving. "If only it was that easy."

It was Quinn's turn to sigh, but she still managed to sound optimistic."You know, thinking negatively won't help with your situation." She turned to leave the room, with Valor keeping an unamused stare at Sterling.

Despite trying his best not to, Sterling found a bit of hope with Quinn's words. It was only a tiny scrap, but it was there. "Let's just keep moving. Your rookie partner's probably bleeding to death right now."

* * *

_1308 Hours, Seattle, Washington, American Territory_

"By all I hold holy..."

Major Kowalczyk voiced everyone's mind. "_What_ is he?"

The Eastern invasion has been fought off, at the cost of several thousand Allied lives. Sure, the casualties were expectedly extremely heavy, but it was much less than what was anticipated, thanks to the giant's support.

Speaking of the giant himself... the direct hit from the Russian battleship threw him several meters into the air, laying waste upon his armor. On the sandy shores of Seattle did he lay, his armor in ruins, and his anchor in pieces. Everyone could now get a clear view of what kind of man exactly is under that armor.

What they saw would haunt their minds until the day they die. The giant isn't human, from the looks of things. He was like a being made out of pure, oozing _darkness_, that somehow managed to form himself into the shape of a man.

Colonel Church sighed. There were so many questions that went unanswered with the giant's death. Still, it was good that the body remained intact; an autopsy should be immediately conducted on the giant. At this time of age, even dead men can tell tales. That is, until the massive body twitched, and small groans escaped it.

"Oh, my God! He's still kickin'!" A soldier cried out. "Somebody get him a medic!" Another one shouted. Whispers of disbelief and surprise were spoken from several of the soldiers, while some were actually quite happy to see their erstwhile ally alive, if only barely.

"Alright, quiet everyone!" Church called out, silencing everyone. "You've done your jobs very well, but I need everyone to keep everything you saw here to yourselves for now. I'll have everyone briefed on what to do about our friend here at HQ, later. For now, dismissed."

The soldiers fell back to their respective groups, but Kowalczyk remained with Church, who had called for a flatbed truck to put the giant's body on.

"So, what do you plan on doing to him?" The major asked the colonel. "I reckon he needs medical attention."

"Don't worry, major. He'll get what he needs and a bit more. From the damages done to his suit and his... weapon, I think he's going to need more than just medical attention and repairs." Church turned his head to face Kowalczyk. He fixed the major a devious smirk. "Tell me, have you heard about the latest supersoldier project our eggheads down at R&D are doing? What was the project called?"

Kowalczyk's eyes went wide with surprise. His face had fear, awe and revulsion all etched into it. "...Project Atlas."

* * *

_A/N: Yes, I know that there aren't really any acids that could work real fast like some do in the movies. I just had to find something creative, and that's what I've come up with. Blame my imagination._


	4. CH III, And Another

**III. And Another**

During the years from 1942 to 1943 in the tropical island of Guadalcanal, Honiara International Airport, then known as Henderson Field, was the site of one of the greatest – and most bitter conflicts of the Pacific War. Originally built by the Japanese occupiers, the airfield was to be used as a supply base for Japanese aircraft, allowing them to patrol the southern Solomon Islands, the shipping lanes to Australia, and New Guinea's eastern flank, further strengthening the Japanese advance. However, due to a lack of manpower, this airfield was very lightly defended, so when Allied forces landed on the islands with the intent of denying its use by the Japanese, the defenders of the airfield were swiftly overwhelmed by the sheer numbers and superior equipment of the attackers.

Those events are locked away in the past, however. Today, a repetition of the Battle of Guadalcanal is being held; with the Australian Army bunkered all around the airport, trying their very best to hold the line against several divisions of the People's Liberation Army. The Australians have been this way for several weeks. Casualties have been moderately high, morale's usually low, and food and ammunition supply is slowly running out.

The fatalities on both sides are mounting every minute, and Allied relief from a Filipino force is scheduled to arrive in another week. If matters continue to go like this, Guadalcanal will be levelled to the ground, meter by bloody meter, with the dead and wounded estimated to be numbering in several ten thousands.

It is here that three individuals from Valoran would get their first view of the horrors of the Third World War.

* * *

He could vaguely remember a battle, a typical battle. As usual for most battles he fought in, he held his ground quite admirably against his usual adversary in the middle, which he remembered was a pale, silvery-haired woman donned in an intricately-decorated, ornate set of armor and wielding a magically-empowered blade that could easily cleave a man in two. He remembered slicing her apart with a searing beam of intensified light, only for her to come right back again. Sometimes, he could also remember his adversary catching him unaware, resulting in yet another death. But like always, he would come right back, eager to return the favor.

But he did not despise her, no. Unlike most of the people he had the misfortune of meeting, he actually did not see her in a negative light. When he regards her with his observation, he sees a little bit of himself in her: a man who was betrayed by someone who he had placed his unshakable trust, someone whom he looked up to, and someone he had counted as his closest friend. As a result of this treachery, he was driven to desperate measures.

He remembered the countless experiments and medical procedures he had done unto himself. The numerous metal plates and circuitry he had fused and imbedded into his body. He even remembered gradually replacing his flesh with that of steel… all in an effort to remove the feeling of hate, loathing and malice against the one he had least expected to be his enemy. How he wished he couldn't remember, how he wished he could just… forget.

He then remembered hearing the story about the woman with the silver hair from those petty, arrogant summoners, and upon hearing the entirety of it, he felt something that he had not felt in his entire life for a fellow person: pity.

Long had he thought that the horrible things that had happened to his life would never happen to anyone else, because of the sheer magnitude of the damage that had been done to him. Her story had enlightened him to the truth that he was not alone; there are plenty of other people that had been in the same circumstances he painfully experienced. In the end, he made a decision to ease their suffering with the only way he knows how: the removal of organic inefficiency, and its advancement by techmaturgical means.

Then, he started having conversations with her during his free time, something that he considered a complete waste of time for being meaningless and trivial, but yet, despite having some devices that he had implanted into his own head for the sole purpose of avoiding it, he found himself feeling the timeworn, disremembered feeling of relief and warmth owing to having a person he could talk to. These conversations eventually lead him to tell her his own story of treachery and disloyalty, and after she learned that they share some common ground, time eventually paved the way to mutual respect, and respect eventually lead to something somewhat vaguely bearing a resemblance to a bond between friends.

Though both of them would likely never admit to it.

But then his mind shifted to more recent events; the battle that had transpired just a few hours ago, as he remembered. He was in an unpleasant condition – he had used up most of his mana in a particularly nasty scuffle – he didn't have enough to feed to his devices. Fortunately for him, his opponent, a gigantic man clad in a weathered diving suit, was having trouble pursuing him because of his suit's weight dragging him down.

He had thought that he could just simply outrun the giant, and he's right. In just a few seconds, his opponent disappeared from sight, and his lumbering footfalls went increasingly faint before completely becoming silent.

Immediately, now that there aren't any of his current enemies in sight, he called for his summoner to teleport him back to his team's summoning platform to get some mana. He slouched down on a nearby tree, savoring the few seconds he was allowed to rest. But suddenly, a bright explosion of white moonlight-like light overloaded his optical receptors before he felt a sharp, abrupt burst of pain dancing around on his torso. He dropped his head down to see what's wrong, and found out to his surprise and irritation, that a crescent-shaped blade had lodged itself in his chest, completely ignoring the armored plating he was wearing. Crimson red blood speckled with greenish-blue spots clung to the blade. He righted his head and he found her.

"You're getting very predictable." She said, with a tinge of humor in her voice. "You should've known that I'll be checking this place out after that one." She swiftly unsheathed her weapon out of his chest, but he didn't even react, to her mild surprise.

His summoner squeaked in surprise. He was defeated yet again, but he was not quite dead yet.

"Curse you," He coughed lightly. "-and those wards you carry." He responded with his own brand of humor before coughing again. "You're fortunate that I don't have any mana with me, or you'll find yourself in two smoldering pieces before I bleed out."

She gave a single 'ha', before she talked, "Until then, I'll see you back at the lane. Don't delay; minions are getting quite tiresome to fight."

He coughed before he responded, "Well, I guess I'll be helping that unshaven gunslinger at botto-"

A sudden explosion of purple energies behind them sent him sprawling on the ground, and knocked her off her feet. He could clearly remember that something not unlike the Prophet of the Void's portals appearing right out of thin air, uprooting and sucking in the tree he was resting on a second ago. He could not remember the Prophet participating in the match, so he immediately knew that there's something very wrong. Very, very wrong.

He saw his staff being thrown in the air, into the portal. He reached for his belt and tried to activate a gravity field, but the League's magical restrictions denied him the use any of his gadgets without sufficient mana. Inwardly cursing himself for joining the League in the first place, he desperately tried to hold on, but the force sucking him in proved too strong for him. Even if he's uninjured, he doubted that he'd still be able to escape it. Trying to claw his way out will prove futile.

With reluctance, he gave in, not knowing what will happen next.

* * *

_June 17, 1041 Hours, Wilderness, Guadalcanal, Chinese Territory_

Viktor opened his eyes.

The sun's glare threatened to blind his optical receptors, the air is unusually humid, and the surroundings are filled with trees, plants and all sorts of tropical jungle-based vegetation. He had his back to the ground, with painful sores threatening to engulf almost every part of his partially organic body. With the techmaturgic implants he had on his mind, he already knew that sixty percent of his body's mechanical parts had significant structural damage, and the remaining organic parts are dangerously close to giving out. Fortunately, his suit had a built-in emergency morphine delivery system, and it was only thanks to that function that he wasn't already crippled in agonizing pain.

The Machine Herald tilted his head to get a better view of his environment. He realized that his left eye's vision is completely black, and it felt like it had been gouged out. Luckily, his right eye is still in working condition. Reminding himself to check on his face later, Viktor studied his surroundings. It took him a few moments to find something that's certainly out of place in a jungle.

It was Diana's Moonsilver blade, planted on the ground hilt-up, with his blood still splattered fresh on its edges.

He mentally tried to call for his summoner to activate recall, but his plight went unanswered. In fact, his summoner's presence seems… absent and hollow, like he isn't there anymore. Wherever Viktor is, this is definitely not the Rift.

As he tried to get up, he noticed that his third robotic arm isn't responding to his commands. He turned his head and found that it seems to have been snapped off, with small electrical sparks coming out of the stump every now and then. If he was in the Rift, something like this would never happen. No dismemberments occurred in the Fields of Justice, thanks to the summoners.

Viktor stared at the stump, seemingly shocked at the loss of his synthetic limb. It took his mind a few seconds to wander back to Diana's sword, which had blood – _his_ blood on it.

He crawled his way to a nearby cliff face. He unbolted the chestplate area of his suit to see the damage for himself, and immediately, more blood came flowing through the stab wound. Viktor's body is more mechanical than organic, but he knew that he could still die from too much blood loss. He was aware that he doesn't have any medicinal potions that could help, and that there's only one option left to prevent himself from bleeding out.

With difficulty, he sent a mental signal to his third arm's stump to fire a laser at a nearby shrub. The stump sparked again, as if in acknowledgment before it discharged a steady beam of intensified light, sending the shrub aflame. It was a pathetic display compared to what the laser would've done if Viktor's third arm is in full functionality, but it will do the trick.

Clenching his teeth and steeling himself both mentally and physically, Viktor sent another signal to the stump to cauterize the still bleeding sword wound he had on his chest. He acted quickly, lest he either bleeds to death, or the morphine wears off.

For the next thirty seconds, the Machine Herald re-experienced the excruciating agony he felt a decade back, right after Stanwick made off with the credit he deserves, and after Zaun's scientific community all but ignored his protests for justice. It took a precise, razor-sharp mind unconcerned and accustomed to extreme pain in order to accurately cauterize the wound area. If anyone else was in Viktor's place, it's more than likely they would've accidentally incinerated themselves in the process.

Finally, after the deed was over and done with, the Machine Herald all but gladly let the darkness creeping in the edges of his vision to consume him whole, delivering him into a world of blissful peace.

* * *

Jayce is having a bizarre day.

Several hours ago, he was in the middle of chasing Viktor across the jungle, but then suddenly, a wormhole decided to appear right next to him, sucking him in and expelling him out in some other, more repulsive sort of jungle, the one that appeared to be quite real, not conjured up by magic. He tried to call for his summoner to get him out of this mess, but strangely, she didn't respond at all, confirming his suspicions that he isn't in the Rift anymore.

For hours, he wandered aimlessly around the jungle; the hammer he had on his back continuously weighing him down, and his outfit's design increasing his body temperature to truly intolerable levels. That was, until he found himself beset by Ionian soldiers.

Or, at least he thought they were Ionians. They may look like Ionians, have the same height as Ionians, and they appear to speak the most common Ionian language, but they were dressed in strange combat jumpsuits, and were fielding rifles far more advanced than Piltover's or Zaun's own, and that's a compliment. It was long believed that the two feuding city-states have the only access to the most powerful firearms in all of Valoran.

Just when things couldn't get any more bizarre (and lethal for the Piltovian inventor, as he was captured and about to be executed by firing squad), a group of mechanical monstrosities supported by more strange-looking men who talked in lower-class Piltovian accents emerged from the trees and killed most of his captors, allowing Jayce to escape unharmed.

Next, Jayce spent the next few hours roaming around the jungle, hiding from Ionian patrols and generally, trying to find his way out of this hellish undergrowth.

By now, the inventor is plagued with starvation, dehydration and exhaustion. He was considering ceasing his roaming to rest for a moment when a familiar figure entered his field of view.

"Hey!" The Piltovian called out as he approached the figure. "…Diana? What are you doing here?"

Jayce immediately regretted calling out to her. When she turned around, her silvery eyes, normally full of vigilance and strength, now resembled the eyes of feral men, deprived of anything resembling order and stability. Her usually unstained, immaculate ornate suit of Lunari armor is spattered with blood and her gloves were also stained crimson with the liquid.

She stood still for a second, as if deciding if Jayce is here to kill her, before her features softened and her combat-ready stance slackened.

"Huh. Jayce, is it?" She breathed a sigh as the inventor nodded in affirmative. "I should ask you the same question, Piltovian."

Jayce walked towards her slowly, for fear of triggering some sort of aggressive response from Diana. "You've been sucked in with that wormhole too, is that right?"

Her features showed surprise briefly. "Yes. I wasn't alone when it happened. I was just about to kill Viktor-"

"What?" It was Jayce's turn to be surprised, but he can't help but feel a little unnerved at the mention of his Zaunite rival. "Viktor? He's here too?"

Diana nodded. She knew all too well of the two inventors' attempts to murder each other outside the Fields of Justice. "I saw him get pulled in by the portal first, so I can safely assume that yes, he's somewhere around here."

The Piltovian's eyes narrowed in anger and irritation at his predicament. "Well,_ that's_ just great. I should've known he's got a part in this. What's he thinking, conducting some sort of foolish, _ridiculous_, half-assed…" He stopped for a second, trying to find the right word. "_Vanity project, _while in the middle of a Rift match? I swear, that guy and his marbles parted ways long before he even started turning himself into a robot."

Suddenly, Diana's stance towards Jayce turned more threatening and appeared more savage. On instinct, Jayce took several steps back. "Don't ever talk about him like that." She whispered ominously, her voice dangerously low. "It's because of people like you that he ended up the way he is in the first place, and you know it."

Jayce's mind had already formed a cutting response about him not having any involvement with Viktor's life at any point, but he wisely chose to keep quiet, for fear that he might never leave this jungle alive.

"Uh, look, we've started this conversation off on the wrong foot." Jayce began. As he talked, he could barely mask the disgust coming out of his voice. "I think Viktor's a _great_ inventor! Like helping out good old Professor Stanwick in making Blitzcrank…"

Diana looks a bit irritated.

"…Providing some of his advice and encouragement as the professor used all of his immeasurable intellect as he tried _desperately _to revive Urgot…"

Now, the Lunari looks irritated.

"…Not to mention publicly providing an apology to Stanwick after he tried taking legal action against him because he wasn't paid too much attention by the public…"

At this moment, Jayce noticed that Diana now looks completely irritated at him.

"Err, at least, that's what I heard from the news." He squeaked out.

"Enough talking." Diana snapped sharply. "Unless you've got something else to do, I suggest you help me out."

Jayce visibly flinched. "Okay, okay. Everything's better than wandering aimlessly in the jungle anyway. What do you need?"

The Lunari looked around, as if she was trying to single out any eavesdroppers. "You may have noticed that my hands are stained with blood. I've encountered some people who tried to kill me, so I killed them. The problem is, it could've gone faster and less messy if I had my blade, which as you also might have noticed, isn't with me."

"I don't like where this is going." Said Jayce.

Diana sighed. Suddenly, with one swift movement, she closed the distance between her and the inventor. "I'm not asking you to like it. I need my blade," She threateningly grabbed hold of Jayce's collar with a bloodstainfed hand, making her show of force all the more intimidating. "_Now_."

Jayce, who was no stranger to being demanded to do what he's told by someone he doesn't like, stood perfectly still, not letting the Lunari see a single emotion on his face. In a tone that mirrored Diana's, he said: "If you're seriously suggesting that I should help you," He shoved her hand off of his collar, with a bit of difficulty. "Then you should start treating me with respect, and keep your godsdamned mitts to yourself, _Diana_. I don't take threats like lightly." He stressed the Lunari's name with all the iron he could care to put in his words.

To the inventor's surprise, Diana actually seemed to take his words in. "You're just as stubborn as Viktor described. You should thank your stars that you're of better use to me alive than dead."

"You seem to know Viktor awfully well." Jayce observed. "I bet killing me would just upset the robot, huh?"

"Heh, he barely remembers you." The Lunari smirked at the offended look on Jayce's face. "Don't worry, you two are going to cross paths soon enough, _then_ you can tell him a piece of your mind. Let's go."

* * *

_1127 Hours, General Henry Locke's Office - Australian Army Garrison Headquarters - Honiara International Airport, Guadalcanal, Australian Territory_

"Sir, the PLA's made a move on our eastern flank, but the battalion you sent a few hours ago eliminated that problem." The garrison's aide-de-camp, Captain Ducard, monotonously reported to his general. "They're on their way back to regroup and rearm."

"Good," Major General Locke said as his eyes scanned the document he had in his hand, idly taking sporadic drags from the cigar perched on his mouth. "Casualties, captain?"

"Only about one-hundred and sixty-two, sir." The captain responded, his monotone persisting. "That's the dead, and the wounded are double that. Still, we've dealt probably triple that amount to the Chinese, and we've pushed them back again. It's a fair trade, I say."

The general's eyes went away from the document and into the captain's own. Locke had the eyes of a tired, miserable man; his eyes had betrayed all the evidence that he hadn't had his fair share of actual good news or a peaceful night's rest.

"From a strategic viewpoint, yes. But now," Locke sighed heavily. "I've got a hundred and a half families back home to ruin with the news I've got. I don't think I'll ever get used to it." The general's eyes went back to the document. "Was there anything else in your report, captain?"

"Yes," Ducard responded, albeit with hesitation. "Supposedly, there's a peculiar-looking civilian out there in the jungle, sir. Our troops report that he's a Caucasian male, with light brown hair and blue eyes, so he's obviously not a local. What's strange is that we can't even identify the outfit he was wearing, and that he was carrying a strangely-designed hammer on his back."

The general nearly chortled, but he isn't in the mood, what with the current state of the war effort. "A hammer, captain? Like a weapon, or a construction tool?"

The captain did a quick glance at the report he was carrying again. "Captain Bryce says that it's definitely a weapon; it's large, had little jolts of electricity lancing around it, and it's about as tall as the average man, too."

The general had trouble believing the report. "Are you sure this news is accurate? I'm quite sure that I had all the men's alcohol stashes burned in the runway, in front of everyone."

"Major Docks, Captain Jamieson, Captain Bryce, Lieutenant Thompson, Lieutenant Doyle, and Sergeants Allen and Petrovic assure that they all saw what they saw. Half a hundred of the men also saw him, and one squad even tried to apprehend the civilian, but he managed to slip away during the skirmish." The captain's voice still remained devoid of any emotions. "I think this is genuine news, sir... unless those stashes aren't _completely_ eradicated."

"Damn it." The general swore as he dropped his document, letting it drop into an inelegant pile on his desk. "Tell Lieutenant James and Sergeant Fairfax to gather all their available men and report to me ASAP. I wanna know why there's a bloody tourist running around in _my _battlefield!"

Captain Ducard saluted. "Right away, general." He immediately left Locke's office to heed his orders.

Ten minutes later...

"Lieutenant James Cartwright, sir. You called?" The walker pilot saluted the general, albeit a little unenthusiastically. Being one of the many severely crippled soldiers to be selected to pilot a mechanized combat walker, James had both of his (mangled after being blown up by an enemy anti-tank rifle) legs amputated and replaced with mechanical prostheses to allow him to directly interface with his walker's systems, in addition to a neural chip implanted deep within his brain. With every movement he made with his legs, a barely audible whine could be heard from the servomotors moving.

"Sergeant Major Al Fairfax, reporting for duty, General Locke!" The second, slightly shorter soldier copied the first soldier's salute, but with more eagerness. Fairfax is part of the Australian military's 'Wraith' program, in which volunteers are trained to their limits in extremely taxing experimental endurance tests, marksmanship training and agility runs. There have been plenty of dead volunteers by the end of each day, but the soldiers who survived proved to be worth more than two infantry sections put together.

"At ease, soldiers." Locke said, and the two soldiers dropped their salutes. "Last I've heard, you two are in command of the only unit that had absolutely no combat experience whatsoever in this airport. Since you also need to see the sights just so you could see how serious are the PLA in consolidating their position in Guadalcanal, I'm sending you out on a search and secure mission." The general paused to take a long drag out of his cigar. "Your primary objective is to secure a civilian out there in the jungle. This civilian has last been seen on these coordinates,"

The general handed the two soldiers a holo-sheet of the jungle, with their objective's location marked red, contrasted by the green surrounding it.

"Don't rely on that intel too much; it's not as accurate as you think." The general informed the soldiers. "Goddamn chinks are trying to jam our satellites at every move; I'm willing to bet that they're even listening in on us as I speak."

James captured a picture of the holo-sheet from his cybernetic eye's camera. "Very good, sir. If that's all, we'll get right to it."

"If I may ask, sir..." Fairfax started. "How did a civilian managed to get himself into a battlefield? If he managed to stay in the jungle for this long, he must've had some prior military training beforehand, maybe from the British, or the Americans."

"As of now, we don't have a bloody clue as to why he's here, but Durand's pretty sure he's not with the PLA or or the Koreans." Locke said, sounding slightly irritated. "Once you managed to haul his arse here, then _maybe_, we'll get our answers."

* * *

_1452 Hours, Wilderness, Guadalcanal, Neutral Territory_

"Hey," Jayce called to his erstwhile companion. "I think I see something over there. I don't know what it is, but it's shiny." He pointed at the distance, a small pond with a cluster of trees surrounding it. "

Diana turned her head to where Jayce was pointing, and sure enough, there was something metallic partly submerged in water, reflecting the sun's light. Almost immediately, the Lunari strode to the object's location, with the Piltovian closely following.

When they arrived, Diana let out a small gasp at what she saw, and Jayce's mouth subconsciously mutated into a smirk.

It was Viktor's severed robotic arm.

That was not all they found. A few meters away from the arm, is none other than Diana's blade, rooted to the rocky ground like a magnificent, ornate building standing tall and proud over an uncivilized, backwards locale. To Diana, the sight of her old blade nearly convinced her that all of her problems would dissipate shortly. Instantly, the Lunari ran over to the weapon and held it lovingly in her arms. She breathed out a relieved sigh before she noticed the blood on its edges. As quick as the feeling of relief washed over her, it was completely gone in the next second.

"Pick that arm up." Diana ordered the inventor, to his growing anger. "Viktor's been here before, and he's wounded. We need to find him."

Jayce groaned harshly. "Gah, saying please doesn't hurt." He shifted his gaze to the disembodied mechanical limb. "And what makes you sure that nut's even here? He's probably conjured up another of those portals of his and left us to rot."

However, by the time Jayce turned his head to look at Diana, she had already started following the blood trail. Another groan escaped his mouth before he reluctantly heeded the Lunari's orders and quickly ran after her.

The two League champions only had to walk a few minutes to reach the end of the blood trail, and sure enough, a sight that could've sent lesser men spewing out the contents of their stomach to the ground greeted them.

With a burnt, smoking shrub a few meters from his feet, it appears that Viktor, realizing that he was quickly bleeding out from a gaping chest wound, had decided that the best course of action was to crudely cauterize the wound with his laser's heat.

Jayce, despite himself, found himself feeling sorry for his Zaunite counterpart, and Diana looks too stunned to move her legs, with her usually pallid complexion turning paler than ever. The Piltovian took it upon himself to move to the Machine Herald to see if he's still alive.

As he moved closer, the more the repugnant smell of burnt skin and superheated metal made him wish to reconsider his actions, but Jayce wasn't one to turn his back on his decisions. If he did something, he will always finish it, one way or another. Without much ado, Jayce crouched down, dropped the mechanical limb he was carrying to the ground, set his hammer down, and felt for a pulse on Viktor.

The skin on Viktor's neck, despite all logic, felt extremely cold. It was almost like touching a piece of metal left behind in the rain. As expected, he felt no pulse. Jayce sighed, Diana's not going to like the news, and he didn't like being the bearer of ill tidings.

Fortunately (and unfortunately) for Jayce, he didn't have to.

Suddenly, the Piltovian found himself on his back, and his face felt like it was slammed by one of Vi's gauntlets. It took him a second to open his eyes, and he found Viktor, despite everything he suffered so far, about to land another metallic fist to his head again.

Acting on adrenaline, Jayce blocked the punch with his arm and swiftly delivered one of his own, aimed at Viktor's mask. His gloved hand made contact with a metallic thunk, sending the Zaunite reeling back. Pressing the advantage, Jayce quickly stood up and tried to deliver another punch aimed at the cyborg's cauterized wound. It would be interesting to see how Viktor would react to that.

It was a mistake, however. Acting surprisingly quick for his state, the Machine Herald evaded the strike and followed up with a shattering clout to one side of Jayce's head, knocking the Piltovian away, with a new black eye to show for it. The cyborg tried to land another strike aimed at his opponent's ribcage, but it seems that his injuries _are_ wearing him down, as evidenced by a haymaker that inexplicably failed to score a hit. The Piltovian inventor even neglected to capitalize on this, opting instead to stand still with a flabbergasted face.

A second later, Viktor bent down and started coughing hard, with droplets of blood escaping from the tiny slits from the sides of his mask. Jayce's adrenaline eventually wore off as the Zaunite eventually went down on one knee, his hacking intensifying severely. The recent events also seemed to bring Diana back to reality.

She ran over to the two men. Diana shoved Jayce aside before bending down to Viktor's level and making short work of removing the mask he had been famous for. To this day, absolutely no one has ever seen what the cyborg would look like underneath his mask, to the point that the League's summoners assumed that he didn't have a face at all, having been rid of it a long time ago and presumably replaced with an inelegant mess of tubes and wires, an assumption that was finally disproved this day, for the Machine Herald _did _have a face, albeit heavily modified.

However, saying that Viktor's face is an absolute mess would be a grave understatement. His nose is crooked, bleeding and broken. Fresh scars, specks of mud and dirt lay speckled all around, and his left eye appeared to be in a terrible, unsalvagable condition. It would appear to be bludgeoned severely by a heavy-handed blow, or a fall. And finally, the extent of the cyborg's modifications made his features visually appalling to the common man; what with his skin being unusually pale due to either a lack of contact with the sun or because of other cybernetic implants, and how his functional eye's pupil having a disturbing, bright yellow glow emanating from it.

"...Urgh, Diana," The Machine Herald wheezed out. "There's someone... behind you." A few sparks clicked from his third arm's stump, but a laser failed to materialize.

"It's okay, Viktor. That's just Jayce, your old rival."

Jayce shifted his feet. "Is he being serious? He really doesn't remember me?"

Diana shot Jayce a hard, withering look, but before she could say anything, gunshots whizzed in the air, narrowly missing Jayce. The inventor immediately dove for cover, and Diana dragged Viktor off behind some rocks before she used her moon-given abilities of teleportation to move herself atop the trees, where she could see where the projectiles are coming from.

Peering down, the Lunari could spot about five six-man squads of more of the strange men she just killed earlier. They were clad in grey combat jumpsuits and domed helmets, which doesn't make sense considering they were in a jungle environment. On each of their hands is an identical copy of the same design of a firearm - a rifle, judging from what she read from Viktor's schematics. Instead of firing a single shot, and having an excruciatingly slow reload procedure, she counted that these firearms could fire a total of thirty-two rounds, and the reloading sequence only took about four seconds at the hands of the worst soldier.

Diana looked down at her two other compatriots. She spotted Jayce crouched behind a tree stump. A second later, the hammer in his hands had transformed into its secondary 'cannon' form. Then, her eyes shifted to Viktor, who is in the middle of a coughing fit. Her stomach dropped at this - not only did her and Jayce's chances of repelling these hostiles appallingly slim, but the Machine Herald's life is slowly withering away, from what she could tell. Reluctantly, she prepared herself for a fight, knowing full well that this might be her last.

But then abruptly, Diana heard Jayce's squeal of surprise. She turned her head towards his direction and found something that's truly bizarre and outlandish.

Advancing towards them from behind, is a column of armored vehicles, each with an intimidatingly large cannon mounted on top of them, with a small, rapid-firing turret attached to the cannon's barrel. In a way, the cannons reminded Diana of the League's anti-champion turrets, only much more intimidating with its practical, austere design. The vehicles rolled with seemingly no concern for its environment, mowing down shrubs, rocks and smaller trees with reckless abandon. Spearheading the assault is a group of six, towering humanoid robots, armed with a dizzying assortment of weapons, either mounted on their bodies or carried by hand. Behind the vehicles are regular infantry, which looked much better equipped and armored than the ones Diana and Jayce are currently locked in combat against.

Now, the League champions' chances of surviving went from 'low' to 'nonexistent'. All of the color on Jayce's face evaporated, and Diana silently accepted her fate, whatever that may be. She could only wish that Viktor already passed away, so as to save him from further suffering.

Just as unexpected their arrival is, the new group suddenly turned their guns to the older group, instantly shredding the ones who were at the front and out of cover. Realizing that they're in much more danger than what was anticipated, the older group took cover, significantly reducing their firing rate.

"Attention, civilians!" Diana could hear a voice exclaim through a loudspeaker. "Stay right were you are, we're here to help!" The voice had a strange Piltovian tint to it, but much more pronounced than normal.

_Great, we might live through this day._ The Lunari thought, but she couldn't think the same for Viktor, who was struggling to maintain consciousness.

* * *

Thirty-two dead Chinese soldiers later...

Jayce checked his Mercury Hammer's charge level, and sighed when it bleeped negative. Without charge, his hammer is as good as a normal bludgeon. The inventor ran his hand through his face, and he was rewarded with sharp, painful pinpricks as his hand went in contact with his new scars.

"Oy." He heard a mechanical voice from behind him. He turned around and came face-to-helmet with one of the robots, who easily stood taller than him by a single foot. "You're this fellow right here in this holo, right?" It handed him over an object that resembled a piece of paper, but it was glowing a bright blue hue, is partially transparent, and it had a metal, machinery-laden frame. On it is a moving picture of him stealthily moving away from the carnage he was subjected to earlier at the Ionian camp. "We've been sent here to come and bring you back to our base, shortly after you've been sighted within the PLA camp."

Letting his curiosity take over, Jayce asked the robot a question. "I've never seen a model like you before. I don't know if any of Valoran's city-states have the technology advanced enough to make weapons, armor and units like the one you're fielding. Who made you?"

The robot shifted its weight to one foot, its servos whirring in movement. "Err... excuse me?" It sounded genuinely confused, which is strange for an artificial intelligence. Come to think of it, the robot also had its organic colleagues' strange accent.

"You're a machine. I'm asking you to tell me who ma-"

"Oh, so you're one of those guys." The robot interjected harshly, and it shifted its weight again so Jayce would notice how he seemed small and insignificant compared to it. "To people like you, just because we've been too banged up to fight with our original limbs always meant that we walker pilots are automatically robots, unable to think or feel like a normal bloke. Typical meatbag."

It was Jayce's turn to be confused. "I-I'm sorry, I meant no offense, but what exactly are you?" He asked once more.

The 'robot' backed off, its stance returning to a neutral one. "You really haven't heard of us?" It raised a hand to its helmet and pushed a few buttons. A second later, the helmet came off with a _fiss_, revealing a human face that looked like it belonged to one of Viktor's acolytes. it had a couple of wires protuding from the right temple, leading to the back of the head where presumably more machinery is kept, and a metal plate is bolted to the left cheek, stretching a metallic path to the base of the neck.

"You're lucky you were talking to me. The other chaps might've fused your ignorant arse to the ground." The 'walker' leaned forward again. "Keep this in mind: don't ever call a walker pilot a machine again if you'd rather have your arms attached to your body."

Jayce was too astounded to talk. Whoever this half-machine hybrid is working for, they employed people like Viktor as soldiers, which is a completely insane move. Viktor's cybernetics had a clear negative effect on his mind, and these people freely use this technology like it's perfectly safe for their sanity. If his guess is correct, these soldiers must work for Zaun, or a similar city-state that managed to stay undiscovered.

Suddenly, a group of soldiers garbed in white, lightweight uniforms ran past the stunned inventor, with a pair of them carrying a stretcher. They each wore a similar armband emblazoned with a red cross on a white circle. Jayce shook himself off of his stunned state to walk after them to see what they're doing, to the consternation of the walker pilot, who reluctantly followed.

Half a minute of walking was all it took for Jayce to witness Viktor's body being lifted off the ground before being carried off in a stretcher and into one of the armored vehicles. He scanned the crowd and found Diana having a heated conversation with one of the soldiers, whom he recognized to be one of the better trained, elite ones. The Piltovian could make out the Lunari's exasperated questions aimed at trying to find out what's going on, while the soldier she was talking to tried to answer as best as he can, which is quickly proving to be not enough.

"In case you're wondering, your mate's being taken to the airport. He looks really bad, but we've got the best corpsmen in the whole island there." The walker said, his mechanical tone of voice having an agitating effect on Jayce due to his contempt for the Machine Herald. "Your other mate's uninjured, so she'll be coming with you to the general's office after you get yourselves cleaned and sorted out. He's got a few questions in mind for you."

Jayce stood still, his expression blank. Without looking at anyone in particular, he monotonously spoke, "Who are you?"

The walker tossed the inventor his helmet. It landed on the ground at his feet, as its owner lumbered away, deeper into the crowd of soldiers.

The Piltovian, after several seconds, picked the helmet up. It appears to be made to seal its wearer's head within its own contained environment, as evidenced by the several complicated parts it was made of. Jayce shifted it to its side and found the words, '2nd Lt. Cartwright, Australian Army' printed into it.

* * *

_A/N: Well, there goes the third chapter. Special thanks goes to The Orange Brigade again for the ideas on what LoL characters should I include, and what sort of futuristic technology I should introduce, P-Man for his encouragement, and of course, the readers. Thank you, and have fun with this chapter. Originally, Jayce was supposed to be the main focus of the Australian theater, but I found out (to my delight) that he had already been given much love in the fanfiction department. And so, I settled for Viktor, who (to my displeasure) hasn't had the same treatment._

_Next up, I should introduce Garen and Lux to our good ol' Sterling, and the next chapter also marks the return of some of my OCs in, uh, maybe Freljord? Ah, anyway, thanks again._

_EDIT: For future reference, I'm letting everyone in on a little secret: I'm Australian._

_FURTHER EDIT: I don't know what the heck's 'Moderate Guest Views', and I just realized today that it somehow disabled guest reviews, as it requires me to pay attention to the little box in the left side of my screen that says 'Reviews'. In short, I disabled it._


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